#And where finally able to bring her originally desired design to life right before the show was canceled

[xx-sketchy-xx]

Lol, why is this so fun???

[pxnsneverland]

Autumn Roses | Young Ian x OC (part 1)

plot summary: As a half black half white slave in colonial North Carolina, Rose has struggled with her place in the world. After her mother's death in childbirth and finding out that the recently deceased River Run plantation master was her father, the mistress of River Run, Jocasta Cameron, took her in treating her as more of a daughter than a slave. Jocasta educated and raised Rose with no one outside the house ever being the wiser. But the arrival of Jocasta's nephew Jamie Fraser and his wife Clare threaten to turn Rose's world upside down especially when they bring along their bright haired, blue eyed nephew Ian Murray.

pairings: Young Ian x OC

fandom: Outlander

word count: 2286

warnings/notes: Hey guys! I've had this Outlander fan fiction idea for awhile and I finally put pen to paper so to speak. I hope you all enjoy it! And those of you that know me from my Elvis fan fiction, no worries. I'm still writing it and will be updating soon :) 

Chapter 1: The Fateful Meeting

               River Run was not a locale where one could expect to encounter a plethora of thrilling events. Each day followed a set routine, a carefully crafted plan. Each individual was aware of their designated position. All but myself, I presume. There wasn't much of a place for negros in North Carolina society. They were considered slaves or possessions by the affluent white individuals who possessed the financial means to acquire them. I, too, followed in the footsteps of my mother, as countless others have done before me. From the moment of my birth, I was thrust into the cruel and inhumane world of slavery. Yet, despite my lowly status, I was afforded a modicum of respect and deference that set me apart from my fellow slaves. The circumstances surrounding my birth were shrouded in mystery, as my mother had passed away during delivery. It was not until years later that I was able to uncover the identity of my father, and the reasons behind my unique position as a lighter-skinned slave who resided within the household rather than toiling in the fields alongside my peers. Upon the passing of Master Cameron, I was summoned by his wife, Jocasta Cameron, at the tender age of eight. It was then that she imparted upon me the knowledge of my origins - a child born of a man who wielded his power over his possessions. Devoid of any offspring to call her own, she developed a fondness for my company. From that moment forward, my status shifted from that of a mere slave to that of a ward, receiving a different kind of treatment. Under the veil of secrecy, within the confines of River Run's protective isolation, Mistress Cameron imparted upon me a wealth of knowledge and skills. She taught me the art of reading and writing, the importance of proper speech, the intricacies of chess, the melodies of the piano, and any other subject that she would have typically taught her own flesh and blood. Tears streamed down my face as I contemplated the plight of my brethren who toiled ceaselessly in the fields and within the confines of the main house. For I, too, was akin to them - a mere possession adorned with precious jewels. In due course, I succumbed to the monotony of everyday life, much like the masses. However, my place left much to be desired, and the apprehension of never discovering my rightful place consumed me, as if such a haven was merely a figment of my imagination.   

On a stunning autumn day, I made the decision to settle beneath the grand oak tree in my front yard. With a book in hand, I whiled away the hours in peaceful solitude. Mistress Cameron sat on the porch, accompanied by her attendant Ulysses. He was a slave who assisted her in all her endeavors, given her blindness. Despite residing in the house slave quarters, he was treated almost as well as I. However, I had been granted my own room years ago, located in a separate wing of the house, far from any visitors who might chance upon it. I sensed the unwavering gaze of Mistress Cameron upon me, despite her lack of visual confirmation. Her admiration for me was so profound that I made every effort to avoid disappointing her. With my head bowed and my lips sealed, I remained hidden as instructed. The stakes were high, for if anyone were to discover that Mistress Cameron was imparting her knowledge upon me and treating me with her customary kindness, both she and I would face certain death.

            The day was a delight, with the gentle autumn breeze causing small ripples to form along the river nearby. The season of autumn had always held a special place in my heart. The leaves underwent a stunning transformation, displaying a vibrant array of colors. The fruits of one's labor were bountifully harvested. Perhaps I could have continued to relish the moment, were it not for the gradual approach of a boat traversing the river, its sound growing ever louder. With haste, I rose from my spot and sought refuge behind the towering tree, ensuring that I remained concealed from the body of water. The boat glided past me before coming to a halt just a stone's throw away from the walkway leading up to the house. I cautiously poked my head out, curious to catch a glimpse of the unexpected visitor. Anticipating the arrival of esteemed guests at River Run, I envisioned the likes of the governor, a soldier, or a lord, among the customary high-ranking individuals who graced us with their presence. In lieu of that, my gaze fell upon a towering, robust Scottish gentleman in the prime of his life, boasting locks of hair so fiery that they appeared to ignite in the sun's rays. He gallantly assisted a slender woman, who appeared to be slightly senior to him, in disembarking from the vessel. Her hair, pinned to the back of her head, was almost as curly as mine. Her skin was as pure as freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any imperfections, unlike that of so many other women. As she emerged from the boat, her gracefulness was striking.

Mistress Jocasta had risen from her seat, bringing Ulysses along with her. She now stood before them, a smile adorning her countenance. “Jamie. Welcome to River Run.”

            Jamie respectfully nodded his head. “Auntie Jocasta.” With a gallant gesture, he removed his hat and bestowed upon her a graceful bow.

            With open arms, Mistress Jocasta welcomed him into her embrace. Accepting her invitation, he embraced her tightly, conveying through the hug the length of time that had passed since their last meeting. “Blessed be,” she whispered softly, “You’ve grown to be a giant. That’ll be the Mackenzie blood flowing through ye.”

            A soft smile graced Jamie's lips. “I was no more than a bairn when you last saw me. Had nowhere to go but up.”

            So, the individual in question was Jamie. Mistress Cameron had devoted considerable time to recounting to me the tales of her family's history in Scotland and her formative years. Jamie, the youngest son of her sister Ellen, had been a name that had reached my ears. Mistress Cameron spoke of him in a manner akin to how she conversed with Ulysses about me, as if he were her very own offspring. Finally, I had the pleasure of putting a face to the name.

             “I recall ye had a most gorgeous heid of red hair,” she remarked, “Oh, how yer mother adored you.”

            “She adored you as well. Always spoke of you wi’ love.”

            “I miss her still.”

            “As do I,” he replied. Jamie hesitated for a moment before proceeding, “Ah, Auntie, may I present my wife Claire?”

            With a confident stride, Claire advanced towards Mistress Cameron, who lowered her head in deference. A smile appeared on Claire's lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Cameron.” Her English heritage piqued my interest slightly. The union of a Scotsman and an English woman was a rare sight indeed.

            “Oh, I hope you’ll call me Auntie, dear. We are kin after all.”

            “Of course,” Claire replied with a soft chuckle, “Auntie it is then.”

            “It’s lovely to meet you, Claire.” Mistress Cameron enveloped her upper arms with a warm embrace.

All of a sudden, a boy emerged and began to make his way up the path, catching my attention as I had not previously noticed his presence on the boat. He appeared to be no older than myself, perhaps even the same age of 16. With his lengthy blonde locks neatly tied back, his complexion, which was of a light hue, glistened with perspiration from diligently transferring their possessions from the vessel. With a wide and sincere grin, he drew near. The sight of that smile was enough to elicit a reciprocal grin from anyone who caught a glimpse of it. His striking good looks caused my heart to flutter uncontrollably, and I desperately willed it to cease its erratic beating.

            Ian. His name perfectly complemented his countenance - unassuming and charming.

            Ian clutched a bushel of wildflowers in his hands. “I’m very pleased to meet ye, Great-Aunt Jocasta.” He extended the bouquet of flowers towards her.

            “Ye’re welcome, lad.” You are most welcome, young man. I realized when she didn't take the flowers that Ian probably didn't realize she was blind. After all, he had never laid eyes on her.

            Ulysses came to the rescue, his voice a soft whisper in Mistress Cameron's ear as he spoke of the flowers that Ian had presented to her. As the realization dawned on her, her eyes widened with a sudden spark of understanding. Without hesitation, she reached out and took hold of the bushel, her fingers curling around it with a sense of purpose. “Thank you kindly, Ian. Forgive me. It is a long time since my sight had left me, though I still see shapes and shadows.”

            “I’m sorry to hear, Great-Auntie.” His countenance reflected the genuine distress he felt upon receiving the news. His kindness was palpable.

            “Oh, fear not, lad. It has been a blessing. I am now gifted with hearing that would be the envy of many a gossip, and the ability to sent truth from lies, if ye catch my meanin’.” His face lit up with a smile. Mistress Cameron spoke the truth. Throughout the duration of our acquaintance, she had consistently refused to regard her lack of sight as a hindrance. She navigated her surroundings with remarkable ease, almost as if she possessed perfect vision. Ulysses, her trusted companion, provided only sporadic assistance. I held great admiration for her actions. In that moment, a canine hastily approached Ian, positioning itself by his side with an uncontainable wag of its tail. With a joyful bark, he bid farewell to Mistress Jocasta and sprang off into the distance. “Oh goodness. Who have we there? Another acquaintance to be made.”

            With a quick movement of the eyes, Jamie stole a glance at Ian. “Young Ian’s…mongrel, Rollo. Take hold of your beast, lad.”

            With a nod, Ian chased after Rollo. No matter how hard he attempted to seize him, the dog darted beyond his grasp. A chuckle escaped my lips as I observed the comical sight of their cat-and-mouse game. Lost in my own amusement, I remained oblivious to Rollo's presence until he gently nudged the hem of my skirt from behind the tree. With a grin adorning his face, he patiently awaited my reaction. However, I found myself unable to respond. As Ian drew near, my heart nearly ceased beating, until he finally caught up to Rollo. “Rollo, you mangy beast, you can’t just go running off on Great-Auntie’s land.” He lifted his head to meet my gaze, his blue eyes widening as if he had just seen a ghost. Despite his pleasant demeanor towards Mistress Jocasta, I couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the potential harm he could inflict upon me. With a swift kick, I sent the book I had been engrossed in hurtling behind me, out of sight.

A lump had formed in my throat, impeding my breathing. Nonetheless, I persevered and managed to bow to him, my gaze fixed on the ground. “I’m sorry, Master Murray. I dinna mean to have any association with yer pet. Please forgive me.” At no other moment had I been as cognizant of the Scottish lilt that had been adopted from Mistress Cameron as I was presently.

Ian remained silent, leaving me on edge. I braced myself for any possible outcome, whether it be a physical altercation or an attack from his canine companion. My jaw tightened in anticipation. With a look of astonishment in his gaze, he uttered, “Ye’re the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen.”

My gaze was irresistibly drawn upwards, away from the ground. “What?”

Ian shook his head, as if to snap out of the current stream of consciousness that had been occupying his mind. “I’m sorry. I shouldna have been so forward. I’m Ian, Ian Murray.” In a swift motion, he grasped my hand and pressed his lips upon it with the grace of a chivalrous protagonist from a timeless tale. He bestowed upon me one of those smiles that had the power to make my heart flutter even from a distance. But now, as he stood before me, my heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it might burst out of my chest.

            As I was preparing to respond to him, my attention was diverted by the sound of my name being called out, “Rose!”

            With haste, I withdrew my hand from Ian's grip as Mistress Jocasta, accompanied by Jamie, Claire, and Ulysses, approached our vicinity. Mistress Jocasta's countenance betrayed a hint of displeasure, yet it was overshadowed by an air of apprehension. “I thought I told you to stay out of sight when we have company.”

            With a subtle movement, I placed my hands behind my back. “I was, Mistress Cameron, but Rollo…he found me…”

            “It was my fault, Great-Anutie,” Ian interjected, “I should have caught up wit’ Rollo before he went sniffin’ around.”

            Her fingers tightened around his shoulder. “It’s alright, lad.” A deep sigh escaped her lips. “We should all go inside. If you all are going to stay here awhile and since ye’re family, there are some things ye must know. I hope ye’ll keep an open mind.” Thus, we trailed after her as she led the way towards the main house. Ian strode alongside me, even though his legs surpassed mine in length. Every now and then, he cast a fleeting glance my way, but I refrained from reciprocating.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

[mynameisnowwyrm]

Spoiler warning

TL;DR horrible adaptation, but very enjoyable on it’s own

(Also just wanted to say I was so sure I was going to hate this bc of what’s different but they changed so much the cartoon and the live action are barely connected in my head)

Okay my review will be split up into two parts: fate: the winx saga as an adaptation and as a standalone work

As an adaptation:

0/10. Maybe 0.5 if I’m being generous.

The things that were unchanged from winx club:

There are characters named Bloom, Stella, Musa, Aisha, Sky and Riven

Aisha, Bloom, Stella and Sky resemble their cartoon counterparts

Riven is an asshole

Bloom is a dumbass

Magic exists

The specialists exist

Main characters go to schools for magic and specialists respectively

The dragon flame is a thing

Witches exist

Other than that it’s a completely different show. The plot vaguely resembles season 1 of winx club only in that Bloom is trying to discover her true heritage. Musa, who is supposed to of East Asian descent is not, Flora was not included and in her place is a different character with similar powers, Tecna was excluded entirely ( I believe this was to distance the show from the futuristic elements of winx club and focus only on fantasy, which doesn’t make sense since they changed Musa’s powers ).

The magic system was changed. Fairies don’t on the regular transform since in the show the know-how to do so was lost, though Bloom does unlock the ability in the finale. Instead of each being a fairy of an individual concept, everyone’s powers ale element based, with Musa’s powers being changed to her being an empath. While this does feel more generic, it makes more sense from a world building perspective and I can see why they changed it.

The fashion is horrible. You will never be able to convince me teenagers dress like that. One of the reasons the original cartoon was enjoyable was all the colourful, fun clothing. The clothes feel dated and too mature for the characters, like I can see a twenty-something person in 2013 wear some of those outfits. It especially feels like a missed opportunity since 2000’s fashion is coming back into style.

The characterization of some of the characters compared to winx club was hit and miss. Riven was an ass and Bloom was impulsive and naive, which is accurate, but Stella, oh Stella was a disappointment. Stella was a jealous, manipulative bitch, which in context of her character backstory makes sense, but is so far from her original portrayal. Cartoon Stella was spoiled and at times self centered, but she was also genuinely kind, helpful and bubbly. To see her character take a 180 and become the all too familiar jealous ex archetype was upsetting.

Now, aaaaall that being said, I don’t believe we should judge this as an adaptation. They changed so much that it is quite literally a new story. So let’s see how it stands up on it’s own.

Summary, taken from the wiki

The series tells the story of Alfea, a fictional boarding school where teenagers study. The world inside this universe is not only magical and full of monsters, but it is also a world of real teenagers who do the most common things: make friends and enemies, go out and of course... fall in love. They are eager to find their place in this world. This universe is different from the one we have all known for a long time.

The attention is focused on a group of proud teens, also well-designed female characters. Sometimes they are heroines, sometimes weak girls. Sometimes they are friends, sometimes rivals. Of course, they are not perfect, but they are real. A group of girls who did not know each other until they are included in the same team inside a school that is strange to them. They will meet forces that are beyond their control and things they do not understand. But, throughout the series, they will find themselves, form an indestructible bond, and transform into powerful and strong girls, ready to change not only the supernatural world, but also ours.

Character summary:

Bloom is a newly discovered fairy from the human world who is attending Alfea college in the otherworld. There she meets her new roommates: chatty Terra, athletic Aisha, uptight Stella and stand-offish Musa. She also meets Sky, Stella’s ex, who is training as a specialist.Shortly before coming to Alfea, Bloom discovers she has magic powers by almost burning her house down and killing her parents. She is distraught over this and it is why she is eager to gain control of her powers.It is discovered that Bloom is a changeling, a barbaric practice where a fairy baby is exchanged with a human one. This leads Bloom on a quest to discover her true heritage.

Musa is an empath, she can feel the feelings of everyone around her. To shut them out and escape she listens to music through her headphones. This leads to her initially coming off as uncaring when Terra tries to get to know her better.

Terra is an earth fairy with a particular talent for making plants grow. She is very nice and chatty, eager to make friends, but not afraid to stand up for herself. She struggles with finding someone to like her and compares herself to “cool girl” Beatrix who has boys following after her.

Aisha is a water fairy who swims twice a day every day. She comes off a a good person who wants to make friends and do the right thing. She also tries to do everything in her power to protect her friends.

Stella is a light fairy and princess of Solaria, the realm in which Alfea resides. She is repeating her first year due to an event prior to season one where she lost control of her powers and blinded her best friend. She is very uptight due to her perfectionist mother and tries to exert control in every other area of her life, when this doesn’t work, e.g. when someone flirts with her on-again-off-again boyfriend she gets jealous and causes trouble. She is also generally rude to the people around her.

Sky is a specialist legacy and Stella’s on-again-off-again boyfriend who has an interest in Bloom. His father was a famous specialist and he was raised by his father’s best friend.

Riven is Sky’s roommate, best friend and a genuine asshole. He insults and antagonizes everyone around him and gets involved with Beatrix. He seems dissatisfied with the life of a specialist.

Beatrix is an air fairy with a lightning powers. She seems mysterious and looks to be the villain of the season. She has enlisted the help of Riven and Dane.

Dane is a first year specialist who first seems to be friendly with Terra but gets sidetracked after spending time with Riven and Beatrix.

What I didn’t like:

The world building is sparse and the magic system is generic. I feel like things could have been better expanded upon. Throughout the show they bring up archaic fairy magic but it’s never really explained how that’s different from current fairy magic.

The interactions between Riven and Dane come off as a bit queerbait-y although they could be setting things up for a second season.

Everyone is constantly so rude towards Terra. Even her supposed friends are mean to her. What gives?

Stella was constantly rude to everyone but by the end they are all the best of friends when she really hasn’t changed much. Also Stella being the jealous controlling ex archetype and not enough people calling her out on her bullshit.

What I did like:

For a Netflix teen drama there is surprisingly little sex between the teenagers. This might be subjective but it was refreshing for me.

Again subjective but I could definitely relate to Bloom’s antisocial teen flashbacks

Beatrix was a fun villain

Though the story might be a little generic, I felt it was compelling throughout. I genuinely wanted to know what happened next.

The story was well paced. It never felt like anything was dragging along

Overall:

The show was definitely enjoyable to watch. There is a lot of room for improvement. It sometimes felt like different plot lines were unconnected and the costume choices leave a lot to be desired. Aside from that they set up a solid story and likable characters (some of whom I love love and love to hate) which I very much want to see further developed in the future. As a stand-alone work 6/10

[sabugabr]

Why the Clone problem in Star Wars animated media is also a Mandalorian problem, and why we have to talk about it (PART 2)

Hi! I finally finished wrapping this up, so here’s part 2 of what has already become a mini article (you can find Part 1 here, if you like!)

And for this part, it won’t be as much as a critic as part 1 was, but instead I’d like to focus more on what I consider to be a wasted potential regarding the representation of the Clones in the Star Wars animated media, from the first season of The Clone Wars till now, and why I believe it to be an extension of the Mandalorian problem I discussed in part 1 —  the good old colonialism.

Sources used, as always, will be linked at the end of this post!

PART 2: THE CLONES

Cody will never know peace

So I’d like to state that I won’t focus as much on the blatantly whitewashing aspect, for I believe it to be very clear by now. If you aren’t familiar with it, I highly recommend you search around tumblr and the internet, there are a lot of interesting articles and posts about it that explain things very didactically and in detail. The only thing you need to know to get this started is that even at the first seasons of Clone Wars (when the troopers still had this somewhat darker skin complexion and all) they were still a whitewashed version of Temuera Morrison (Jango’s actor). And from then, as we all know, they only got whiter and whiter till we get where we are now, in rage.

Look at this very ambiguously non-white but still westernized men fiercely guarding their pin-up space poster

Now look at this still westernized but slightly (sarcasm) whiter men who for some reason now have different tanning levels among them (See how Rex now has a lighter skin tone? WHEN THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN KKKKKKK) Anyway you got the idea. So without further ado...

2.1 THE FANTASY METAPHOR

As I mentioned before in Part 1, one thing that has to be very clear if you want to follow my train of thought is that it’s impossible to consume something without attributing cultural meanings to it, or without making cultural associations. This things will naturally happen and it often can improve our connection to certain narratives, especially fantastic ones. Even if a story takes place in a fantastic/sci fi universe, with all fictional species and people and worlds and cultures, they never come from nowhere, and almost always they have some or a lot of basing in real people and cultures. And when done properly, this can help making these stories resonate in a very beautifull, meaningfull way. I actually believe this intrisic cultural associations are the things that make these stories work at all. As the brilliant american speculative/science fiction author Ursula K. Le Guin says in the introduction (added in 1976) of her novel The Left Hand of Darkness, and that I was not able to chopp much because it’s absolutely genious and i’ll be leaving the link to the full text right here,

“The purpose of a thought-experiment, as the term was used by Schrodinger and other physicists, is not to predict the future — indeed Schrodinger's most famous thought-experiment goes to show that the ‘future,’ on the quantum level, cannot be predicted — but to describe reality, the present world.

Science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive.”

[...] “Fiction writers, at least in their braver moments, do desire the truth: to know it, speak it, serve it. But they go about it in a peculiar and devious way, which consists in inventing persons, places, and events which never did and never will exist or occur, and telling about these fictions in detail and at length and with a great deal of emotion, and then when they are done writing down this pack of lies, they say, There! That's the truth!

They may use all kinds of facts to support their tissue of lies. They may describe the Marshalsea Prison, which was a real place, or the battle of Borodino, which really was fought, or the process of cloning, which really takes place in laboratories, or the deterioration of a personality, which is described in real textbooks of psychology; and so on. This weight of verifiable place-event-phenomenon-behavior makes the reader forget that he is reading a pure invention, a history that never took place anywhere but in that unlocalisable region, the author's mind. In fact, while we read a novel, we are insane —bonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there, we hear their voices, we watch the battle of Borodino with  them, we may even become Napoleon. Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed.”

[...] “ In reading a novel, any novel, we have to know perfectly well that the whole thing is nonsense, and then, while reading, believe every word of it. Finally, when we're done with it, we may find — if it's a good novel — that we're a bit different from what we were before we read it, that we have been changed a little, as if by having met a new face, crossed a street we never crossed before. But it's very hard to say just what we learned, how we were changed.

The artist deals with what cannot be said in words.

The artist whose medium is fiction does this within words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words. Words can be used thus paradoxically because they have, along with a semiotic usage, a symbolic or metaphoric usage. [...]  All fiction is metaphor. Science fiction is metaphor. What sets it apart from older forms of fiction seems to be its use of new metaphors, drawn from certain great dominants of our contemporary life — science, all the sciences, and technology, and the relativistic and the historical outlook, among them. Space travel is one of these metaphors; so is an alternative society, an alternative biology; the future is another. The future, in fiction, is a metaphor.

A metaphor for what?” [1]

A metaphor for what indeed. I won’t be going into what Star Wars as a whole is a metaphor for, because I am certain that it varies from person to person, and everyone can and has the total right to take whatever they want from this story, and understand it as they see fit. That’s why it’s called the modern myth. And therefore, all I’ll be saying here is playinly my take not only on what I understand the Clones to be, but what I believe they could have meant.

2.2 SO, BOBA IS A CLONE

I don’t want to get too repetitive, but I wanted to adress it because even though I by no means intend to put Boba and the Clones in the same bag, there is one aspect about them that I find very similar and interesting, that is the persue of individuality. While the Clones have this very intrinsically connected to their narratives, in Boba’s case this appears more in his concept design. As I mentioned in Part 1, one of the things the CW staff had in mind while designing the mandalorians is that they wanted to make Boba seem unique and distinguishable from them, and honestly even in the original trilogy he stands out a lot. He is unique and memorable and that’s one of the things that draws us to him.

And as we all know, both Boba and Jango and the Clones are played by Temuera Morrison — and occasionally by the wonderful Bodie Taylor and Daniel Logan. And Temuera Morrison comes from the Maori people. And differently from the mandalorian case, where we were talking about a whole planet, in this situation we’re talking about portraying one single person, so there’s nowhere to go around his appearance and phenotypes, right? I mean, you are literally representing an actual individual, so there’s no way you could alter their looks, right?

(hahahaha wrong)

And besides that, I think that is in situations like that (when we are talking about individuals) that the actor’s perspective could really have a place to shine (just the same as how Lea was mostly written by Carrie Fisher). In this very heart-warming interview for The New York Times (which you can read full signing up for their 5-free-articles-per-month policy), Temuera Morrison talks a little bit about how he incorporated his cultural background to Boba Fett in The Mandalorian:

“I come from the Maori nation of New Zealand, the Indigenous people — we’re the Down Under Polynesians — and I wanted to bring that kind of spirit and energy, which we call wairua. I’ve been trained in my cultural dance, which we call the haka. I’ve also been trained in some of our weapons, so that’s how I was able to manipulate some of the weapons in my fight scenes and work with the gaffi stick, which my character has.” [2]

The Gaffi stick (or Gaderffii), btw, is the weapon used by the Tusken Raiders on Tatooine, and according to oceanic art expert Bruno Claessens it’s design was inspired by wooden Fijian war clubs called totokia. [3]

And I think is very clear how this background can influence one’s performance and approach to a character, and majorly how much more alive this character will feel like. Beyond that, having an actor from your culture to play and add elements to a character will higly improve your sense of connection with them (besides all the impact of seeying yourself on screen, and seeying yourself portrayed with respect). It would only make sense if the cultural elements that the actor brought when giving life to a fictional individual would’ve been kept and even deepened while expanding this role. And if you’re familiar with Star Wars Legends you’ll probably rememeber that in Legends Jango would train and raise all Clone troopers in the Mandalorian culture, so that the Clones would sing traditional war chants before battles, be fluent in Mando’a (Mandalore’s language) and some would proudly take mandalorian names for themselves. So why didn’t Filoni Inc. take that into account when they went to delve into the clones in The Clone Wars?

2.3 THE WHITE MINORITY

First of all I’d like to state that all this is 100% me conjecturing, and by no means at all I’m saying that this is what really happened. But while I was re-watching CW before The Bad Batch premiere, something came to my mind regarding the whitewashing of the Clones, and I’d like to leave that on the table.

So, you know this kind of recent movies and series that depicted like, fairies in this fictional world where fairies were very opressed, but there would be a lot of fairies played by white actors? Just like Bright and Carnival Row. If you’ve watched some of these and have some racial conscience, you’ll probably know where I’m going here. And the issue with it is that often this medias will portray real situations of racism and opression and prejudice, but all applied to white people. Like in Carnival Row, when going to work as a maid in a rich human house, our girl Cara Delevingne had to fight not to have her braids (which held a lot of significance in her culture) cut by her intolerant human mistress, because the braids were not “appropriate”. Got it? hahahaha what a joy

Look at her ethnic braids!!!

One of the reasons this happens might be to relieve a white audience of the burden of watching these stories and feeling what I like to call “white guilt”. Because, as we all know, white people were never very oppressed.  Historically speaking, white people have always been in privileged social positions, and in an exploitative relationship between two ethnic groups, white people very usually would be the exploiters  —  the opressors. So while watching situations (that every minority would know to be very real) of opression in fiction, if these situations were lived by a white actor, there would be no real-life associations, because we have no historical parameter to associate this situation with anything in real life — if you are white. Thus, there is less chance that, when consuming one of these narratives, whoever is watching will question the "truthfulness" of these situations (because it's not "real racism", see, "they're just fairies"). It's easier for a person to watch without having to step out of their comfort zone, or confront the reality of real people who actually go through things like that. There's even a chance that this might diminish empathy for these people.

Once again, not saying this is specifically the case of the Clones, majorly because one of the main feelings you have when watching CW is exactly empathy for the troopers (at least for me, honestly, the galaxy could explode, I just wanted those poor men to be happy for God’s sake). But I’ll talk more about it later.

The thing is, the whole thing with the Clones, if you think about it, it’s not pretty. If you step on little tiny bit outside the bubble of “fictional fantasy”, the concept is very outrageous. They are kept in conditions analogous to slavery, to say the least. To say the more, they were literally made in an on-demand lab to serve a purpose they are personally not a part of, for which they will neither receive any reward nor share any part of the gains. On the contrary, as we saw in The Bad Batch, as soon as the war was over and the clones were no longer useful as cannonballs, they were discarded. In the (wonderful) episode 6 of the third season of (the almost flawless) Rebels, “The Last Battle”, we're even personally introduced to the analogy that there really wasn't much difference in value between clones and droids, something that was pretty clear in Clone Wars but hadn't been said explicitly yet.

In fact, technically the Separatists can be considered to be more human than the Republic. But that's just my opinion.

So, you had this whole army of pretty much slaves. I know this is a heavy term, but these were people who were originally stripped of any sense of humanity or individuality, made literally to go to war and die in it, doing so purely in exchange for food and lodging, under the false pretense that they belonged to a glorious purpose (yes, Loki me taught that term, that was the only thing I absorbed from this series). Doing all this under extremely precarious conditions from which they had no chance of getting out, actually, getting out was tantamount to the death penalty. They were slaves. In milder terms, an oppressed minority. And again, I don't know if that was the case, but I can understand why Filoni Inc would be apprehensive about representing phenotically indigenous people in this situation. Especially since we in theory should see Anakin and Obi-Wan as the good guys.

(and here I’d like to leave a little disclaimer that I believe the whole Anakin-was-a-slave-once plot was HUGELY misused (and honestly just badly done) both in the prequels and in the animeted series  — maybe for the best, since he was, you know, white and all that, and I don’t know how the writers would have handled it, but ANYWAY — I believe this could have been further explored, particularly regarding his relationship with the Clones, and how it could have influenced his revolt against the Jedi, and manipulated to add to his anger and all that. I mean, we already HAD the fact that Anakin shared a deeper conection with his troopers than usual)

Yes, Rex, you have common trauma experiences to share. But anyway, backing to my track

As I was saying, we are to see them as good guys, and maybe that could’ve been tricky if we saw them hooping up on slavery practices. Like, idk, a “nice” sugar plantation owner? (I don’t know the correct word for it in english, but in portuguese they were called senhores de engenho) Like this guy from 12 Years a Slave?

You know, the slave owner who was “nice”. IDK, anyway  

No one will ever watch Clone Wars and make this association (I believe not, at least), of course not. But if we were to see how CW deepened the clone arcs, and see them as phenotypically indigenous, subjected to certain situations that occur in CW (yes, like Umbara), maybe some kind of association would’ve been easier to make.

I mean, come onnnn I can’t be the only one seeing it

You see, maybe not the whole 12 Years a Slave association one, but I don’t think it’s hard to see there was something there. And maybe this could’ve been even more evident if they looked non-white. Because historically, both black peoples and indigenous peoples went through processes of slavery, from which we as a society are still impacted today. And to slave a people, the first thing you have to do is strip them from their humanity. So it might be easier to see this situation and apply it to real life. And maybe that could lead to a whole lot of other questions regarding the Clones, the Republic, the Jedi, and even how chill Obi-Wan was about all this. We might come out of it, as lady Ursula Le Guin stated in the fragment above, a bit different from what we were before we watch it.

Maybe even unconsciously, Filoni Inc thought we would be more confortable watching if they just looked white (and because of colonialism and all that, but I’m adding thoughts here).

And of course I don’t like the idea of, idk, looking at Obi-Wan and thinking about Benedict Cumberbatch in 12 Years a Slave or something like that. Of course that, if the Clones were to play the same role as they did in the prequels, to obediently serve the Jedi and quietly die for them, that would have been bad, and hurtfull, and pejorative if added to all that I said here. But the thing is that Clone Wars, consciously or not, already solved that. At least to my point of view, they already managed to approach this situation in an incredible competent way, that is giving them agency.

2.4 AGENCY AND INDIVIDUALITY

So, one of the things I love most in Clone Wars is how it really feels like it’s about the Clones. Like, we have the bigger scene of Palpatine taking over, Ahsoka’s growth arc, Anakin’s turn to The Dark Side, the dawn of the Jedi and rise of the Empire and all that, but it also has this idk, vibe, of there’s actually something going on that no one in scene is talking about? And this something is the Clones. We have these episodes spread throughout the seasons, even out of chronological order, which when watched together tell a parallel story to the war, to everything I mentioned. Which is a story about individuals. Clone Wars manages to, in a (at least to me) very touching way, make the Clones be the heros. 

Can you really look me in the eye and say that Five’s story didn’t CRASH you like a full-speed train???? He may not have the same amount of screen-time as the protagonists, but his story is just as important as theirs (and to me, it might be the most meaningful one). Because he is the first to break free from the opression cicle all the Clones were trapped into. 

His story can be divided into 6 phases.

1 - First, the construction of his individuality, in other words, the reclaiming of his humanity. 

2 - Then the assimilation of understanding yourself as an individual of value, and then extending this to all his brothers, not as a unit, but as a set of individuals collectively having this same newly discovered value.

3 - This makes him realize that in the situation they find themselves in, they are not being recognized as such. This makes him question the reality of their situation.

4 - Freed from the illusion of his state, he seeks the truth about it.

5 - This then leads him to seek liberation not just for himself, but for all the Clones (it's basically Plato's Cave, and I'm not exaggerating here).

6 - And finally, precisely because he has assimilated his individuality and sought freedom for himself and his brothers, he is punished for it.

His story is all about agency. Agency, according to the Wikipedia page that is the first to appear if you type “agency” on Google, is that agency is “the abstract principle that autonomous beings, agents, are capable of acting by themselves” [4], and this abstract principle can be dissected in 7 segments:

Law - a person acting on behalf of another person

Religious -  "the privilege of choice... introduced by God"

Moral -  capacity for making moral judgments

Philosophical -  the capacity of an autonomous agent to act, relating to action theory in philosophy

Psychological -  the ability to recognize or attribute agency in humans and non-human animals

Sociological -  the ability of social actors to make independent choices, relating to action theory in sociology

Structural - ability of an individual to organize future situations and resource distribution

All of them apply here. And this is just the story of one Clone. We know there are many others throughout the series. 

Agency is what can make the world of a difference when you are telling a story about an opressed minority. Because opressed minorities do exist, and opression exists, and if you are insecure about consuming a fictional media about opressed minorities, see if they have agency might be a good place to start. So that’s why I think that everything I said before in 2.3 falls short. Because the solution already existed, and was indeed done. Honestly, making the non-agency representation of the Clones (the one we see in the prequels) to be the one played by Temuera Morrison, and then giving them agency in the version where they appear to be white, just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

And honestly, if they were to make the Clones look like Temuera Morrison, and by that mean, take more inspiration in the Māori culture, maybe they wouldn’t even have to change much of their representation besides their facial features. As I said in part 1, I am not by any means an expert in polynesian cultures, but there was something that really got me while I was researching about it. And is the facial tattoos. More precisely, the tā moko. 

2.5  TĀ MOKO

Once again I’ll be using the Te Ara: The Encyclopedia of New Zealand as source, and you can find the articles used linked at the end of this post. 

Etymologically speaking,

“The term moko traditionally applied to male facial tattooing, while kauae referred to moko on the chins of women. There were other specific terms for tattooing on other parts of the body. Eventually ‘moko’ came to be used for Māori tattooing in general.” [5]

So moko is the correct name for the characteristic tattoos we often see when we look for Māori culture. 

These ones ^. Please also look this book up, it’s beautiful. It’s written by  Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, a New Zealand academic specialising in Māori cultural issues and a lesbian activist. She’s wonderful. 

According to the Tourism NewZealand website, 

“In Māori culture, it [moko] reflects the individual's whakapapa (ancestry) and personal history. In earlier times it was an important signifier of social rank, knowledge, skill and eligibility to marry.”

“Traditionally men received moko on their faces, buttocks and thighs. Māori face tattoos are the ultimate expression of Māori identity. Māori believe the head is the most sacred part of the body, so facial tattoos have special significance.”

[...] “The main lines in a Māori tattoo are called manawa, which is the Māori word for heart.” [6]

Therefore, in the Māori culture, there’s this incredibly deep meaning attributed to the (specific of their culture) tattooing of the face. The act of tattooing the body, any part of the body, is incredibly powerful in many cultures around the globe. The adornment of the body can have different meanings for these different cultures, but all of which I've come into contact with do mean a lot. It’s one of the oldest and most beautiful human expressions of individuality and identity. 

And in the Star Wars universe, the Clones are the group that has the deeper connection to, and the best narrative regarding, tattoos. In fact, besides Hera’s father, Cham Syndulla, the Clones are the only individuals to have tattooed skin, at least that I can recall of. And they do share a deep connection to it. 

For the Clones, the tattoos (added to hairstyles) are the most meaningful way in which they can express themselves. Is what makes them distinguishable from each other to other people. Tattoos are one of the things that represent them as individuals.

And I’m not BY ANY MEANS sayin that the Clones facial tattoos = Moko. That’s not my point. But that’s one of the things I meant when I said earlier about the wasted potential of the representation of the Clones (in my point of view). Because maybe if it were their intention to base the culture of the clones after the polynesian culture, maybe if it were their intention to make the Clones actually look like Temuera Morrison, this could have meant a whole deal. More than it’d appear looking to it from outside this culture. Maybe if there were actual polynesian people in the team that designed the Clones and wrote them (or at least indigenous people, something), who knows what we could’ve had. 

Even in Hunter’s design, I noticed that if you take for example this frame of Temuera from the movie River Queen (2005), where we can have a closer look at the design of his tā moko

Speaking purely plastically (because I don’t want to get into the movie itself, just using it as example because then I can use Temuera himself as a comparison), see the lines around the contours of his mouth? Now look at Hunter’s. 

I find it interesting that they choose to design this lines coming from around his nose like that. But at this point I am stretching A LOT into plastic and semiotics, so this comparison is just a little thing that got my attention. I know that his tattoo is a skull and etc etc, I’m just poiting this out. And it even makes me a little frustrated, because they could have taken so many interesting paths in the Bad Batch designs. But instead they choose to pay homage to Rambo. And I mean, I like Rambo, I think he’s cool and all that.

Look at him doing Filipino martial arts

But then, as we say in Brasil, they had the knife and the cheese in their hands (all they had to do was cut the cheese, but they didn’t). Istead, it seems like in order to make Hunter look like Rambo, they made him even whiter??? 

2.6 SO...

Look, I love The Clone Wars. I’m crazy about it. I love the Clones, I love their stories and plots. They are great characters and one of the greatest addings ever made in the Star Wars universe. They even have, in my opinion, the best soundtrack piece to feature in a Star Wars media since John Williams’ wonderful score. It just feels to me as if their narrative core is full of bagage, and meanings, and associations that were just wiped under the carpet when they suddenly became white. It just feels to me as if, once again, they were trying to erase the person behing the trooper mask, and the people they were to represent, and the history they should evoke.

I don’t know why they were whitewashed. Maybe it was just the old due racism and colonialism. Maybe it was meant for us to not question the Jedi, or our good guys, or the real morality of this fictional universe where we were immersed. But then, was it meant for what?

The Clones were a metaphor for what? 

(spoiler: the answer still contains colonialism)

Thank you so much for reading !!!! (and congratulations for getting this far, you are a true hero)

SOURCES USED IN THIS:

[1] Ursulla K. Le Guin, 'The Left Hand of Darkness', 14th ACE print run of June, 1977

[2] Dave Itzkoff, 'Being Boba Fett: Temuera Morrison Discusses ‘The Mandalorian’', The New York Times, published Dec. 7, 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/07/arts/television/the-mandalorian-boba-fett-temuera-morrison.html (accessed 15 September 2021)

[3] Bruno Claessens, 'George Lucas' "Star Wars" and Oceanic art' , Archived from the original on December 5, 2020, https://web.archive.org/web/20201205114353/http://brunoclaessens.com/2015/07/george-lucas-star-wars-and-oceanic-art/#.YEiJ-p37RhF (accessed 15 September 2021)

[4]  Wikipedia contributors, "Agency," Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Agency&oldid=1037924611 (accessed September 17, 2021)

[5] Rawinia Higgins, 'Tā moko – Māori tattooing - Origins of tā moko', Te Ara - the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/ta-moko-maori-tattooing/page-1 (accessed 17 September 2021)

[6] Tourism New Zealand, ‘The meaning of tā moko, traditional Māori tattoos’,  The Tourism New Zealand website, https://www.newzealand.com/us/feature/ta-moko-maori-tattoo/ (accessed 17 September 2021)

[renaissanceduroi-archive]

drabble ; deserving

Hi I accidentally wrote a 5 page drabble(?) where Elysia meets Lysandre for the first time after seeking him out when he doesn’t attend Sycamore’s funeral. It’s relatively sparse and unedited because I am tired and did not intend for this to happen, but I am excited by it nonetheless so here it is: 

---

“You’re weak.” What a way to introduce herself. She should be shocked, or afraid, or heartbroken, but Elysia is angry. It doesn’t matter that a dead man is breathing before her; it only matters what he has done. 

Despite her rancid tone, Elysia gently lets the honchkrow out of its ball, as the poor thing is not responsible for the deeds of its master. It looks so frail. Old. Like Sycamore, but without that undying glint of hope in his eye. What would Lysandre do, without the bird? Would he care enough to check in on her? Or would it have been a relief to him, to not be able to know about her or Sycamore anymore?

“I have always wanted to see what you look like,” is all that Lysandre has to say for himself. He looks rather comfortable, sitting on the ground, himself looking quite frail, but not a day over forty, despite how many years it has been. 

“Shut UP!” Her voice is a screech. They are so isolated, it hardly matters -- and if they are overheard, being found out is what this pathetic excuse for a man deserves. “You have no idea how much you hurt the professor. He hurt, for you. Every. Single. Day. Every single day. You get to run away and disappear, he is left to wonder. Worry himself sick. It’s selfish. It’s disgusting of you.” 

“I knew our royal genes were strong, but you are nearly the spitting image of your grandfather. Though much prettier, of course.”

“We have both known what you’ve been doing. Sending your poor honchkrow all the way out to Lumiose City to watch him. What, did you want to make sure he was still alive? Because clearly you care so much!” 

“I did not intend for it to be secret.”

“Professor Sycamore thought of you every day of his life, and in his final moments. But you did not care enough to show up to his funeral. Not a care in the world. Why? Not worth the potential of being seen? Too much of a hassle? Didn’t want to have to witness how you left the world? How you left him to DIE?! He is-- was… is, the cornerstone of my life. I have loving family and friends, but he was, in a way, a soulmate. Not romantically of course, but beyond that. He taught me everything I know. He taught me how to pour love into something and create something beautiful. He taught me the virtues of balance, patience, forgiveness. He forgave you, Lysandre. And that’s a true testament to his character, because I don’t think I ever will. Not for the destruction and devastation you caused, but for how you betrayed the only person left alive who still loved you.” 

“We can bring him back.” 

“Don’t. Don’t say that to me.” 

“We can.” 

“Don’t SAY THAT TO ME! That is the last thing he would have wanted. Did he teach you nothing? Do you even now move through your life so self-absorbed that you cannot understand that someone may have different desires than you?” 

“I acknowledge peoples desires.” 

“You just do not care.” 

“I dismiss ones that are unproductive, yes.” 

“How could he have spoken so highly of you.” 

“Are you seeing that he perhaps was not always of sound judgement?” 

She freezes for a moment, but only a flash. “Stop. You’re trying to sow seeds of doubt into my mind.” 

“I am merely attempting to show you that all is not as perfect as you want to believe.”

“What do you know of perfection? You are a flawed man who caused ugly destruction, nothing more.” 

“I know more of perfection than any person. I have witnessed it, embodied it, believed in it, created it.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“If I were insane, would your pure Augustine have loved me so?”

She wants to spit on him. To vomit. To scream. She had imagined meeting Lysandre many times, asking him all sorts of questions, wondering what bond they would form. But today was the day she pushed herself to truly discover him, fueled by the sole desire of yelling at him for continuing to be so weak as to betray his only friend in his final moments. 

“Would he?” Lysandre presses. 

“Clearly, he did.” 

She expected Lysandre to smirk at that, to be haughty, but he remains emotionless. “Clearly.” … “Is this all you wanted from me? You came all the way out here to scorn me?” 

“Yes, actually.” 

“Such a distance, fueled by the fire in your heart.” 

“Everything you say is nonsense!” 

“Even when I try to show my appreciation for you? What a shame.” 

“The last thing I want is your appreciation.” 

“Ah, but you are doing so marvelously.” 

She wants to bite back with I haven’t done anything, but her curiosity overrides her. “...How so?” she asks, suspicious. 

“Your beliefs are strong. Your passion consumes you. Your values dominate your every decision. And of course, you have taken wonderful care of the professor for me.” 

“There was nothing stopping you from taking care of him yourself! It’s all he wanted!” 

“But if I had, I would have interfered with the balance of things. Don’t you see? He imparted his value of balance upon you, correct?” He waits for an answer.

“Correct.” 

“I could not have forced myself back into his life. It would have broken the delicate ground upon which he rebuilt his world. I tried to raze and rebuild the world, but the force of destruction was too strong that the force of balance overcame me, and then he, and his force of life, was meant to override that. Life must go on, Elysia.” Hearing her name in his voice sends an indescribable shudder through her body. It’s like, a snake, or an eel, something shocking and wet and cold and wrong. “And now you are the life that must go on. You see it now, don’t you? You have his teachings, but my temperament. His values, but my blood.”

“I wish I had your blood on my hands.” 

“I wish you would stop threatening me, but I suppose neither of us will get what we want.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Elysia slyly pulls her hand out from her pocket and tosses a pokeball in the air. The professor’s charizard -- her charizard, now -- lands on the ground with a hard stomp, shaking the earth. It wears a mega stone around its neck, matching one of the rings she wears on her right hand. The pokemon recognizes Lysandre instantly, and is visibly confused, wary, unsure of how to act. How much does the charizard understand of what Lysandre has done? It surely witnessed its trainer, its original trainer that is, cry from the anguish caused by the man below him. But Lysandre also cared for this pokemon once, too. He gave it pets and treats, looked after it while the professor was away, and looked after the professor itself. Why is it being used to threaten him, now? But the charizard can sense Elysia’s anger. And he must trust the person that Sycamore entrusted him with, rather than the man who has been absent for years.

So as Elysia fumes at him, the charizard growls at a man who once was a friend.

“Do not allow yourself to be overcome by wrath, Elysia. Anger is not becoming on you.” 

“I will not be calm only when you stop inciting my rage. And I will get what I want.” She gestures forward and charizard leans in, snarling in Lysandre’s face, small embers inadvertently flurrying out of its nose as it begins to carry the same wrath as its trainer. “You have caused so much suffering to a wonderful man. And you 

“I admire your determination.” 

“I do not want to be someone you admire.”

“Then stop acting admirably.” 

“...”

“If Augustine saw you right now, what would he say?” 

This makes charizard simmer down, as well. 

“Is this your way of begging for mercy?” 

“I do not need your mercy.” 

“How immortal is immortal, hm? Surely being decapatated by a dragon would be enough to strip the gift of life away from you.” 

“I thought you said Augustine taught you about forgiveness.” 

“You do not DESERVE forgiveness!” 

“Ah, so people are only given what they deserve?” 

“You are hardly people.” 

“Yes, I am a god.” 

“You are a MONSTER!” 

“Do not lose track of your emotions, Elysia. You are angry about nothing.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Then tell me, what are you angry about? My not attending the ceremony of our friend’s death?” 

“Your remorseless betrayal of a man who would have done anything for you.”

“Would he have? Elysia. He never came looking for me.” 

“...What do you mean.” 

“He never came looking for me. He never contacted me. You perceive my honchkrow as me being too weak to approach, but it was an invitation, open to being responded to. You found me so easily, and that was by design. He didn’t do anything for me.” 

“You’re lying. The professor was passionate, and driven, and--” 

“Weak. He was too weak to confront the fear of what he would find when he looked deep enough. He was like this before I fired the Weapon, and remained as such to his dying day.” 

She’s still angry. She’s still so, so angry at him, a lava still sitting in her stomach and wrists and wanting to explode again. But for the first time so far, the tides change, and water strikes her now. Tears begin to prick in her eyes and warp her vision, and she falls backward, sitting on the ground. She is no longer standing over him, now. 

“Call off your pokemon.” 

“No.” 

Lysandre looks the charizard in the eye and commands, “Dracaufeu. Retourne.” 

The dragon hesitates, unsure of what to do. It continues its locked gaze with Lysandre until it decides… to not listen to him. The charizard snuffs a small ember at him and retains its stance. 

“Don’t speak to the professor’s pokemon like that.” 

“Its allegiance to you is admirable. And isn’t it your pokemon, now?” 

“...Yes. It’s just taking some getting used to.” 

“Adjusting always takes time.” 

“It does.” Elysia wants to rest her head on her knees, give her body a moment’s rest, but for some reason she is afraid of letting her guard down around this man. Rationally, yes he is a threat, but she also does not feel as though he will be violent toward her. And yet, she is still on high guard. The two of them exist in a brief silence, together but separate. The air around Elysia is filled with solid utter grief and warping distorting rage; the air around Lysandre is stagnant nothingness save for the threatening dragon’s head looming above his own. Finally, though, now the calmest she has been this entire time, Elysia asks flatly, “Why didn’t you come to the funeral.” 

Lysandre answers simply. “I have not seen him since before I fired the Weapon. To see him decaying, ravaged by age would have corrupted my memory of him.” 

“You disregarded dignity and respect for a loved one because you did not want to perceive him as something other than perfect.” 

“Yes.” 

“You disgust me.” 

“I know. … What are people to one another if not projections of stylized impressions?” 

“Love is raw, intimate, messy, difficult. Love is not pristine, nor is any person. Relationships are more than distant idealization.”

“Then why did you yell and threaten me when I suggested Augustine was flawed?” 

For the first time, she has no answer to this. 

“Now. Do you have anything else to say, or will you leave me be? This was quite a lot of interaction for someone who has been isolated for as long as I have.” 

“You cannot make me take pity on you.” 

“I do not want your pity. I just want to be alone.” 

In a huff, Elysia plants her feet firmly on the ground and stands up, fists clenched by her sides. “It’s what you deserve.” She begins to mount her charizard, only catching a quick glimpse of Lysandre’s face as she turns. He’s smirking. 

“Exactly.” 

Without another word, she and charizard fly off the mountainside, back toward town. 

[ggukcangetit]

Dreamcatchers Chap 1

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Summary: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.  

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Acknowledgement: shoutout to @stutterfly​ for designing this beautiful banner which i am completely in love with and stare at for no particular reason throughout the day

A/N: here’s the first chapter! i had originally planned on posting the entire story as one post but it’s way too long so i’m breaking it up into multiple chapters. the story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios​ prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing!

16th December

Mornings began early in the Yeongdo district of Busan. Yuri realised this on her first morning in town, as her fitful sleep was broken around 5 in the morning. Perhaps the quiet bustle at the crack of dawn shouldn’t have surprised her too much, given how this was primarily a seaside town with a small port. Her work did not require her to arrive before 8 am so she decided to talk a stroll around the town, acquaint herself with some of the shops and people, and perhaps even grab a bite to eat.

Yuri’s best friend from high school - Kim Ahreum, lived in this town, and this was one of the few reasons why Yuri hadn’t protested violently against her transfer. That, and she hadn’t been given much of a choice from her superiors. Ahreum had texted her excitedly about how beautiful the sea port of Yeongdo was - full of beautiful parks, quirky shops, exquisite food, and fascinating people. Coming from Seoul, Yuri wondered how difficult it would be for her to adjust to a world that sounded so different from the one she was coming from. Ahreum herself was a doctor in training, while her older brother - Namjoon, was in his final year of graduate school, just a few months away from his second law degree. Yuri didn’t remember much of Namjoon as he had left for college by the time she and Ahreum had become friends in their second year of high school. Her limited memory told her that he was very well read, quiet, and taller than the most other boys in school. 

“Hey! I haven’t seen you around before.” 

Yuri looked around for the owner of the voice - a little girl with two tight pigtails, a bright red dress, and a look of suspicion and curiosity lining her face. The woman beside her - presumably her mother - looked appalled at the little girl’s statement and shushed her before apologising to Yuri.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” she said, bowing deeply. “Nayeong here doesn’t really know how to talk to elders!”

“That’s alright,” replied Yuri, returning the bow. She squatted down in front of Nayeong and looked straight into her eyes. “Hello, my name is Choi Yuri. I moved here yesterday. It’s nice to meet you, and I hope we can be friends.”

The little girl seemed to hesitate in her desire to outcast this stranger who had seemingly no qualms about being truthful and friendly. Yuri could see the indecisiveness flitting through her features and decided to try a different tactic.

“I’m quite hungry but since I don’t know any of the shops over here, I was wondering if you could tell me where I could get some fresh bread and pastries.”

At these words, Nayeong’s eyes lit up and any indecision she previously held disappeared. She grabbed hold of Yuri’s hand and her mother’s, pulling them along in the direction of the town’s center. A few minutes later, they came to a halt outside a cozy looking shop.

“‘The Moon’s Post Office’?” Yuri read the sign out loud, intrigued by the name.

“Seokjin oppa makes the best pastries in the world! Eomma, tell her!” Nayeong exclaimed, looking at her mother excitedly. 

“Alright, alright,” her mother laughed. “Yes, Nayeong is right. Seokjin does make incredible pastries, breads, and desserts. It’s almost impossible to stop this one from visiting the shop every day.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to go in and find out. Would you like to join me, Nayeong?” asked Yuri. She glanced at the older woman once, to make sure this request wasn’t out of line.

“Can I, Eomma?” asked Nayeong, excitedly.

“Of course! It’s always a good thing to help others out.” Nayeong squealed happily at her mother’s response and rushed inside.

“I’m Lim Seora, it’s nice to meet you,” said the older woman, once her daughter was inside.

“Choi Yuri,” Yuri responded, bowing deeply. “Thank you for accompanying me here.”

Once inside, Yuri felt her senses getting assaulted by a plethora of soft, sweet, refreshing smells. Nayeong was already at the counter, talking to someone about the different things she wanted. Yuri felt her throat go dry as she glanced at the person behind the counter. She had rarely seen anyone as handsome as the young man currently talking to Nayeong. His thick black hair kept falling over his forehead which he tried to remove with a gentle shake of his head, his plump pink lips pressed together in amusement as an oversized black and red cardigan hung off his rather broad shoulders. 

“So that’s three blueberry scones, one orange muffin, and a bag of peanut butter cookies?” asked the young man, to which Nayeong nodded enthusiastically.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“I’ve brought a friend with me today. She’s hungry so can you make something tasty for her, Oppa?” responded Nayeong, pulling Yuri forward.

“Is that right? Hello, I don’t think we’ve met,” he said with a soft smile. “Kim Seokjin, I run this bakery.”

“Nice to meet you,” replied Yuri, bowing in greeting. “I’m Choi Yuri, I moved here yesterday.”

“Nice to meet you too! May I recommend the Snow Croissant?” said Seokjin, sweeping his hand dramatically over the display case.

“The ‘Snow Croissant’? What’s that?” asked Yuri, chuckling at his enthusiasm. 

“It’s my take on the New Orleans Beignet and the French Croissant,” he replied, bringing out a golden flaky croissant dusted with powdered sugar. 

Yuri took a bite of the pastry and gasped in surprise. The light crunch of the savoury croissant blended beautifully with the soft sweetness of the sugar dust, along with-

“A hint of lemon?” wondered Yuri, biting into the pastry absentmindedly. 

“That’s fantastic! Not many people have been able to detect the subtle lemon flavour infused into the pastry dough,” replied Seokjin, looking extremely pleased. “Would you like anything else?”

“A coffee, please,” said Yuri, throwing the paper plate into the nearby dustbin. “To-go. And how much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” replied Seokjin, with a wink. “Consider it a welcome present. Hope to see you around!”

“Oh…” Yuri flushed slightly at his generosity, but accepted it nonetheless. The clock inside the bakery chimed seven times, indicating that she had spent close to an hour with her new acquaintances. 

“I should get going,” she said, taking the coffee cup from the counter. “Don’t want to be late on my first day of work. It was nice meeting you all. I hope we meet again, Nayeong!”

xxx

“You can’t be serious! Why the hell are you doing this?!”

Chief Inspector Goh pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched one of his best officers fly off the handle. 3 years into the force Detective Inspector Jeon had proven himself to be smart, capable, and extremely reliable. The only problem was a recent case which had slowly come to take over his life. Which was why, when Chief Inspector Goh had called him into the office to tell him that they were closing the case, DI Jeon had taken it a little too hard.

“Jeon, you are, first and foremost, a homicide detective. Granted that this disappearance was linked to a homicide you were investigating, but you need to let it go. There are other, more pressing, cases that require your attention. We need you back on the force full time. Let Lee handle the disappearance - it's his department. For now, I’m assigning you a new partner to work with. Especially-”

A knock on the door interrupted Chief Inspector Goh, followed by the entrance of an unfamiliar face. 

“Right on time! That’s the kind of dedication we’re looking for over here,” said Goh with an appreciative nod. “Jeon, meet your new partner - Detective Inspector Choi Yuri. She’s just transferred here from Seoul. DI Choi, this is Detective Inspector Jeon Jeongguk - he’s one of our best men.”

DI Jeon scowled as he surveyed his new partner. She was tall, dressed in a plain shirt and slacks, her short hair tucked behind her ears. She gave him a small smile and bowed in greeting. In response, DI Jeon stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I apologise on behalf of him,” said Chief Inspector Goh. “He isn’t usually this impolite. Really glad to have you join our team, DI Choi. You’ve had quite a number of impressive cases in Seoul, and we hope that you can continue working hard with all of us here.”

“Thank you, Chief Inspector. I will do my best,” said Yuri, with a small smile.

“Glad to hear that. Now,” he said, pulling out a thin case file from under a large stack of paperwork. “I need the two of you to head over to Manor House right now. Some officers are already at the scene, along with the forensics team. The body was found early this morning.”

“Have they identified the victim?” asked Yuri, checking how far Manor House was on her phone.

“Hmm. Kang Eunwoo, son of Kang Kiwoo, who owns the largest chain of hotels in Busan. So you can understand the situation.”

Yuri gulped softly, tucking her phone away and nodding her head slowly.

xxx

The entire ride to the crime scene was silent. Not the pleasant or comfortable kind of silence Yuri had always preferred over meaningless small talk. No, this was the stiff, suffocating silence that made her want to pitch herself out the car window. She was currently regretting not having driven to work - although she was still a bit exhausted from the nearly 5 hour drive from Seoul the previous night.

She didn’t know what to make of her new partner. When she was working in Seoul, her partner had been a 43 year old woman named Hwayoung. She was separated from her husband with whom she shared joint custody of their three kids, only drank low sugar milk tea, and talked a mile a minute while on the job. Some might have found Hwayoung a tad irritating, but Yuri had found a caring older sister in the ruthless and chaotic world of criminal investigation in the country’s capital. DI Jeon, in comparison, had yet to speak a word to her. The couple of routine questions she had asked him about the exact location and identity of the victim were met with heated silence. 

The Kangs were incredibly wealthy - the type that could buy your family business in an instant and then gift it back to you without incurring any loss. The lavish mansion reeked of money, luxury, and carelessness that only accompanied an abundance of liquid cash. The victim had been found in the private meeting room on the ground floor. Being an extremely high profile case, there were already reporters trying to get a good picture from outside the mansion itself.

“Cause of death?” asked DI Jeon, kneeling down to get a better look at the body.

“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Death would’ve been instantaneous,” said the forensic doctor, removing her gloves and stuffing them into her coat pocket. She turned towards Yuri and gave her a small smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Ahn Seulgi. I head the forensics team at the precinct.”

“Choi Yuri,” replied Yuri, bowing slightly. “I’m DI Jeon’s new partner.”

“Is today your first day at work?” asked Seulgi, with a surprised expression.

“Yeah, I just got transferred from Se-”

“DI Choi, need I remind you that there’s a body lying here?” snapped DI Jeon. “It would be better if you socialize on your own time.”

Yuri was taken aback by the anger in his tone. Even though she had worked in homicide for nearly 5 years now, her colleagues had always been polite and friendly with her. She didn’t really know how to respond to her new partner’s accusations.

“Calm down, DI Jeon,” said Seulgi, a frown settling on her forehead. “This isn’t socializing - we’re coworkers and it's impolite to not introduce yourself to each other.”

DI Jeon didn’t say anything more after that, but Yuri could feel the anger radiating off him. She was grateful to Seulgi for sticking up for her, but it didn’t look like she was going to have an easy time working with Jeon. 

“Detective Inspector,” said another officer, approaching DI Jeon with a notepad. “I’ve just spoken to the staff. It seems there was a big party here last night. The victim had invited around 10-12 of his friends and they stayed till just before midnight.”

“Thanks, Jisoo. Ask Suho to get statements from all those who were present at the party last night. As well as where they went afterwards.”

“I will,” replied Jisoo, with a nod. “Mr. Kang is waiting for you in his office.”

Kang Kiwoo didn’t look like a seasoned businessman who had a 26 year old son. His face was young and his smile was extremely attractive, but, Yuri noticed, it didn’t reach his eyes. In fact, there was something inscrutable in his dark brown irises that disturbed her more than she liked to admit. Yuri had come to realise that a person’s eyes were the first to betray their true nature; and Mr. Kang’s eyes were almost vacant.

“My condolences, Mr. Kang,” began DI Jeon. “Please rest assured that we will do everything in our power to catch whoever is responsible for this.”

“Thank you, DI Jeon,” replied Mr. Kang with a smile. “I’m feeling reassured knowing that you are handling my son’s case. And you are?”

Yuri bowed once again and introduced herself. “DI Choi Yuri. I will also be working on your son’s case with DI Jeon.”

“Well then, how can I be of assistance? DI Jeon? DI Choi?”

“Could you please tell us more about the party that took place last night?” asked DI Jeon, not giving Yuri a chance to say anything. He had already sat down on one of the chairs, and Yuri decided that she would rather remain standing.

Mr. Kang frowned for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. “My son likes to- I’m sorry. Eunwoo liked to party quite a lot. I wasn’t fond of his lifestyle and I had told him of my views many times before. This isn’t the first time that he’s taken over an entire floor of our mansion to ‘entertain’ his friends.”

“You argued with your son last night,” continued DI Jeon, consulting the notes Jisoo had given him. “What was that about?”

“If you know that we argued, I’m sure you know what we argued about.” 

“In your own words, if you will,” said DI Jeon, a forced smile gracing his features.  

“I lost the use of my legs almost 3 years ago,” said Mr. Kang, leaning forward on his desk. “I expected my son to take over the company by the time he was 28. However, he didn’t seem in the least bit inclined to take any responsibility whatsoever. So last night, I told him I would disinherit him.”

“And how did he take that news?”

“I’m quite certain you’re not asking me to elaborate on the type of language my son used last night,” said Mr. Kang, with a slight smirk. “Because I’d prefer not to.”

DI Jeon stared at the man across from him who was proving to be much more difficult than expected. “Can you tell us what your movements were for the rest of the night?”

“I was in here, finishing some paperwork, until the party got over. I said goodnight to my son and retired for the night at around half past 12.”

“How did your son seem when you last saw him?”

“He was quite inebriated. I barely got a coherent reply from him. In hindsight, I should have stayed with him until he had fallen asleep. Maybe I could have prevented his death.”

“Why do you say that?” Yuri asked, speaking for the first time since introducing herself. DI Jeon shot her a glare before returning his gaze to Mr. Kang.

“If I had been with him until he fell asleep, he wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with the Park boy.”

“The ‘Park boy’?” asked Yuri, frowning slightly.

“Park Jimin. He came here last night. I heard his voice just before I closed the door to my room.”

“Are you saying Park Jimin killed your son?” asked DI Jeon. “Do you have any proof, Mr. Kang?”

“It is your job to find proof, DI Jeon. I’m merely stating what I know. The Parks are our long time rivals; I’m sure you’re aware of that. My son never got along particularly well with Park Jimin since they were in school. As far as I can tell, he was probably the last one to see my son alive.”

xxx

Yuri was currently at Ahreum’s apartment, having dinner in honor of her moving to Busan. 

“I had such grand plans of taking you to the street food market on your first day here,” whined Ahreum. “But given how completely exhausted you look, this is the best alternative.”

“This is great, Ahreum. I haven’t soba noodles in such a long time. You’re actually a pretty decent cook.” Yuri grinned at her best friend, before slurping some noodles.

“I still can’t believe that a high profile murder took place the day you moved here. You really can’t catch a break, can you?” Ahreum sipped on her wine, while scrolling through her phone. “Social media is blowing up with this.”

“I’m just glad I could leave in time for dinner. The way Jeon was treating me, I thought he would make me file paperwork at the station the entire night.”

“I don’t really get that. Jeongguk’s a pretty decent guy. Why’s he being such a dick to you?” Ahreum asked, tying her long brown curls into a bun. “Namjoon’s known him since before I moved here. He only has good things to say about him.”

“Beats me,” shrugged Yuri. “But more importantly, where is Namjoon? I thought he’d be joining us for dinner today.”

“He’s still at the library.”

“It’s almost 11 pm.”

“Yeah, the library closes at midnight. He’ll probably come home after that.” Ahreum stretched her hands above her head before stifling a yawn. “He runs on very little sleep anyway.”

“Nice to see that hasn’t changed since I last saw him,” grinned Yuri, slipping on her shoes and getting ready to leave. “Thanks for dinner, Ahreum. I really needed this today.”

“Oh shut up! You know I’m always ready to feed you!” she replied with a wink. “Now go home and get some sleep.”

Sleep. That was the problem. 

xxx

hope you enjoyed the first chapter! feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions so far. and don’t forget to like/reblog if you enjoyed the chapter!

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 9 : Intensity Bound

Kinktober Day 9 Prompts: Pussy whipping ~ Cuffs (leather) ~ Japanese rope bondage Fandom: Original Tags: exophilia, dom/sub, BDSM, pussy whipping, cuffs, rope bondage, Pairing:  Orc(m)/Human(f), Darnok/Lia

[Authors note: OOF. Lots going on with this one and it isn’t as long as my usual parts for this pairing. This is a transitional scene as we ramp up into some of the heavier stuff.]

The vacation with Darnok had been everything Lia  had hoped for and more. It was perfect, and clearly needed for both of them. By the time the trip was over, Lia was certain she had never seen a more relaxed orc in her life. There was a bittersweetness to it. Leaving the island, leaving the fantasy, returning to their normal lives and jobs. Knowing she wouldn’t be seeing him every day, or the memories of every night sharing a bed. Lia would miss all of it, and she wondered or maybe hoped, that Darnok would too. 

For Lia this had just made her feelings more confusing. She wanted a relationship with Darnok, she wanted to be more than just a sub. She wanted to be his sub, his only sub, and she wanted to be more than that too. She wanted to just be with him in every way possible. She didn’t care about his job, his money, or his power, she cared about him. That was the hardest part about all of this. She cared about him, maybe even loved him, and she wasn’t sure he felt the same.

There was no way to know if Darnok shared her feelings, other than the occasional slip on his part. There were times, during the trip, that he seemed to forget the insistence that the two parts of his lives be separate. There were nights that they fucked, sometimes in public, and there were nights they made love. Nothing could convince Lia otherwise. She knew enough to know the difference, and when his forehead pressed against hers and he whispered in his own language words she didn’t understand while thrusting so slowly into her, there was nothing else to think. If that wasn’t making love then maybe she didn’t know what love making was after all. 

Now they were home and back into their routines. Work was fine, though Lia would have liked a little more time off, and she had missed Ember quite a bit. It was nice being able to catch up with her friend and Lia spared almost no details. She had not quite told Ember everything about her arrangement with Darnok or how she felt. Mostly because Ember and Darnok somewhat knew each other, but only tangentially. Still, at some point Lia would have to confide her feelings to someone and Ember was quickly becoming her confidant. Having a friend, a best friend, had made everything so much easier, but also gave Lia comfort she didn’t realize she was missing. 

The first weekend after coming back Darnok insisted they keep the scene light and figure out if they wanted to start testing Lia’s limits again or not. Lia had never realized how much of an exhibition streak she had until Darnok was fucking her in front of strangers, people outside of the kink community. The gala, being in a cage, being stared at. That was the beginning, but this trip solidified that Lia did like to be watched. More importantly, she liked being watched when Darnok was involved. She wasn’t sure how she would feel about it without him there. 

They discussed what areas of kink they had not really touched, or might like to try and how it could work into their upcoming scenes. It almost felt a little detached and professional, so different to how things were on the island. Perhaps it was just the location. They did have to respect the club space, the time usage of the rooms, and the other members. It was possible this professional angle was a necessity of playing in a place that wasn’t their own. Something that had Lia itching to invite Darnok over, but afraid to do so as well. 

That was the line that was never crossed. She never had him come to her home. It was her way of forcing separation like his own. If she could not be part of his vanilla life, then she needed something of her own as well. She could not go to his work, or even ask about it, and she didn't even know for sure where Darnok lived. She suspected in the city, but she had reason to believe he might also have homes elsewhere. It was a little distressing if she thought about it too long, how much about him she really didn’t know, but at the same time, didn’t care. What she knew felt like enough. 

As strange as it may have seemed before, Lia found herself happy to see the club regulars again, even Morwenna. Though she still kept the woman at arms length, never sure what to think of her. There was a strange fondness she felt for Lucien and Zane, once she got to know them a little better. Their kindness to Ember, and herself helped considerably. Though she still had not agreed to a scene with any of them, though they had requested it of Darnok. The most he had promised them was trying out more public scenes and they were welcome to watch. 

Darnok had even spoken with Lucien to plan the first public scene with Lia since they returned from vacation. He wanted something that showed off Lia’s skills as a sub, something that helped to push her limits, but also something she would be comfortable with. There was a fine line to walk here. Since they were at the club, they could do a more indepth scene and not have to worry about it. Not the way they had with public sex, as that could have lead to some issues had the wrong person actually seen them. 

For the first public scene, Darnok had chosen shibari, the art of Japanese rope bondage. He had chosen teal and and a deeper ocean blue as the colors he would start with. He wanted colors of rope that would look good together, and also contrast on Lias light skin. He also just liked the color blue on her, and this color combination reminded him of the water at the island, something they had both enjoyed. 

Instead of using one of the private rooms Darnok led Lia into the area off the lounge with the circular beds. He chose one that was open, more towards the middle, and pushed the curtains out of the way. He wanted no obstruction of the view. Helping Lia onto the bed he watched as she slowly stripped. It was arousing seeing her this way and the room faded. He didn’t care if no one was there, or a hundred people were. She was his focus now. 

Once divested of her clothing Darnok moved in. Starting with the dark blue he wound it across her chest, between her breasts and under them going behind her neck and securing with small knots as he went. He wanted a simple design to start, the corset look was always popular and he knew that they had not done much with this kind of bondage yet so he needed to keep it somewhat simple. Working the dark blue down to her hips he switched out for the teal, creating an almost ombre effect with the rope colors. He stopped at her thighs, binding each one individually and then back up to her hips. One string of the rope was tied between her legs, he was careful with the positioning of the knots and how it hooked to the rest of the rope. He wanted her to feel every tug that he made. 

Soon he had Lia bound all pretty on the bed. Laying her back against the pillows he stroked over her body and tugged gently at the rope. He could hear murmurs behind him , but paid no mind. His goal was to bring his sub to a slow orgasm right here in front of anyone that wanted to watch. He could see Lia glancing around, watching the crowd watching her before closing her eyes again. 

Darnok was careful, purposeful with his touch. Teasing, tantalising, pushing to the edge but not letting her go over, not yet. Not until she was sweating, arching, the rope between her legs fully soaked. Then and only then was he ready to give in, to give her what she clearly wanted. Tugging the rope just right Darnok watched as Lia arched against the bed. Pleasure washing over her in waves as he kept the pressure  on her, wanting to see how long it would last. When she finally came down he was ready to take her right there. Something he wanted so desperately but would resist. 

Carefully and gently, Darnok began aftercare. He slowly undid the ropes, rubbing her flesh to help circulation, cutting where he needed to in order to release her safely. She was cold and shaking, something he expected as he rubbed her body with his rough hands to help bring back feeling and warmth. He had a blanket with him and wrapped her in it, giving her small sips of water once she was relaxed against him. His own need is forgotten for now as he took care of his precious little submissive. 

Lia stayed in sub space much longer than Darnok had anticipated and he ended up staying in the main room long enough that the intensity of his need was able to fade some what. It was a little surprising and good to know. Helping her get dressed, Darnok drove them to the hotel and pampered her the rest of the evening until she was a little more herself. Only then did he feel comfortable asking for his own release and the enthusiasm he was met with was encouraging. 

The scene had gone well, better than either had anticipated and Lia was just as excited to try even more scenes like that going forward. Darnok expressed a desire to be more public as well, but he still wanted private scenes, just for them. Especially when it came to more intense scenes, Darnok preferred those be private, at least the first time, so that he was certain it was something they both enjoyed. 

It was a couple of weeks before Lia and Darnok could be together again and Lia needed the break. Both physically and emotionally. Each time she saw him, the harder it was not to tell him how she really felt. Some distance helped and in planning for their next scene it gave her the opportunity to recenter herself. They would be experimenting with pain again. Something they only did on occasion and were careful about. Lia didn’t like most types of pain and found some of it to be a bit of a turn off, but she was always willing to experiment and try new things. 

This next scene had her nervous and wary. She would be bound and whipped. Specifically on her genitals. That sounded uncomfortable and it had taken quite a bit of convincing for her to finally agree to it. In the end her curiosity won out. She knew that Darnok would not strike her too hard, and she enjoyed rough sex. Perhaps this would be just as pleasurable as that. She did like the way spanking felt, this was close enough to that sensation that it made sense that she could possibly enjoy this too.

The day for the scene finally came and Lia was nervous. She had dressed comfortably and packed extra clothing. They were going to be doing this scene in private and that helped relax her just a bit. She wasn’t sure she had the energy for something this new and to be public as well. Arriving at the club Lia settled into the room they booked, changing out of her clothing and making sure everything in the room was ready. 

When Darnok arrived she smiled at him from the bed, sitting there naked, waiting patiently. His smile was worth it, she knew he would be pleased with her and was thankful she was right. It took him only a few moments to get himself ready before walking over to the bed with the leather cuffs he would be using on her. They would be more comfortable than handcuffs or rope. 

Lia squirmed as her wrists were slipped into the cuffs and hooked to the bed above her head. Her ankles were cuffed, legs spread, and hooked to the bottom of the bed. Straps had been mounted under the mattress and were adjustable to allow for bondage of varying degrees, and people of various heights. It was quite thoughtful and smart on the part of the club to make sure all their rooms were modular and could fit a variety of sizes of people. The bed was big enough for Darnok, but the straps made it easy to cuff someone as small as Lia to it. 

“I hope you are ready for this Lia. Remember we are using extended color codes ok. Red is full stop, orange you need a break with conversation, yellow you just need a small break or I need to move to a different spot. Green is go, blue is more or harder. Understand?” 

Lia nodded and remembered that verbal confirmation was preferred. “Yes, I understand. Red is full stop, the scene ends and does not continue right?”

“Yes. That is why orange is in there. It is one step below simply ending the scene.” Darnok moved off the bed and went to grab some items from the bag he brought with him.

Lia relaxed against the bed, knowing that tensing up would only make things worse for her. She took slow breaths as she watched Dar gathering up his tools. She knew what some of them were, the flogger was familiar, a few other things she wasn’t sure of. Lia trusted Darnok and knew that he would explain everything he used on her before actually using it. 

When Darnok settled on the bed he ran his hands up and down Lia’s thighs, massaging her, getting her used to his touch, warming her skin. He rubbed over her mons, her folds, her clit. Making sure she was feeling relaxed pleasure before breaking out any of his tools. They were in no rush and he was prepared to take his time. 

He pinched at her skin, then used his fingers to gently slap her thighs. Getting Lia used to being struck. Moving his hand he popped her mound softly. His strikes got slightly harder as he varied location until he struck her clit hard enough to make her jump. Watching her face he waited to see if she would code, when she did not, he continued. Interspacing the slaps with gentle rubbing over her clit and folds.

When she felt warmed up enough, and seemed to be enjoying what was happening, he grabbed his soft flogger. Even hitting with a harder strike, the material wasn’t firm enough to cause intense pain. Again he started with her thighs, then mound, before carefully striking her clit and folds. Her moans delighted him, and he kept the strikes light enough to bring pleasure instead of pain. 

Finding a nice balance Darnok would hit a little harder to make Lia jump and then back off a bit until she was panting. The soft flogger was soaked and he felt himself pressing hard against his pants. He had thought to be fully naked, but wanted the focus to be on her and not himself. Switching out to a more firm flogger he tested it on her thighs, then mound. When she winced a bit, Darnok paused before striking her clit gently. The sound she made was somewhere between pleasure and pain and he waited for her to code. 

Lia did not, and he was so proud as he increased the intensity of the strikes until she was panting and whimpering. Her outer lips were puffy and pink, there were raised areas on her mound, and her clit was swollen and red. Backing off Darnok rubbed Lia’s clit with his thumb, inserting two fingers inside of her and feeling her clench as she came almost instantly. It was a beautiful sight to behold and he felt his control slipping. 

“Oh how desperately I want you my dearest.”

“Please, Darnok, I need you inside me. I need  you now.” Lia’s voice pitched up as she tugged on the restraints. 

Darnok was barely able to hold back. Only his fear of hurting her kept him calm enough to unhook the cuffs, but he did not have the patience to remove them. Tugging off his pants, Dar loomed over Lia, the tip of his cock sliding over her swollen puffy pussy. He snarled, hips snapping forward as he buried himself in her tight heat. Her small body dwarfed by his. 

Powerful thrusts pushed his thick cock deeper and deeper inside of her until his balls were slapping rhythmically on her ass. The orc snarled, his tusks scraping Lia’s shoulder as she held onto him and took everything he had to give. Losing himself to the moment a familiar feeling washed over him as a flash of their first time together filled his mind. More of his control slipped and Darnok began to lose himself to his more beastly side.

Pulling Lia tight against him, his grip left marks on her skin as he arched and rutted into her with powerful strokes. Darnok felt his control slipping further as her tight heat around him pushed him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel her spasming, clenching around him, clearly finding her own release beneath him with a loud cry. 

“Mine, you are mine Lia, you will always be mine.” 

Darnok lost himself as pleasure built higher and higher before crashing down on him. His tusks dug into her shoulder, marking her again as he had done on that first day. Claiming her in ways he promised himself he never would. That delicate and possessive feeling rose within him again as he clung tight to the human beneath him and rocked his body into hers. Always marveling at how her small body could take him. Some part of Darnok knew he was lost, completely, to this bright human under him, but he had to hold back. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he came back to himself. Releasing her shoulder Darnok panted, pressing his forehead to hers. An apology on his lips, one he couldn’t seem to make. Admitting he was sorry, would not only be a lie, but it would draw attention to just how far his control had slipped. 

Looking down at the woman beneath him, something twisted inside his chest. He knew that he had over stepped, broken a promise, and had simply gone too far. Admitting any of those things would require him to explain why it was forbidden. A conversation he simply wasn’t ready to have, a risk he wasn’t willing to take. The truth might push Lia away, and the selfish possessive part of himself did not want that. 

Carefully He pulled out and tended her wounds, holding her close, hoping she did not read too much into his words, his actions, the intensity of the scene. Let her think it was just part of it, part of the kink, part of the lifestyle. He wasn’t ready, not for the truth, and not for the possibility of losing his most precious little Lia.  

[themattress]

My Top 15 Favorite Gotham Characters

Plus one Honorable Mention.

Honorable Mention: Silver St. Cloud - She's an honorable mention because of how tragically the show wasted her. Silver was a standout character in 2A's “Rise of the Villains” arc, as we see all the layers peeled back from whimsical, kind-hearted, well-mannered young socialite to cruel, manipulative, cold-blooded agent of an evil religious cult to vulnerable, scared and remorseful girl in way over her head who forges a real emotional connection with Bruce. However, despite all the rich potential for her to develop even further as a character, she was never seen again after the 2A finale. 

15. Tabitha Galavan - While as a character she's the very definition of a second-stringer, Tabitha is an interesting case study in what happens when a single ember of innocence is still left burning within the darkest of souls. Raised in the evil Order of St. Dumas and kept firmly under her older brother's thumb, Tabitha is certainly no angel, being the sort of person who will fatally stab an innocent old woman in the back and feel no remorse. But the desire to care and be cared for is still very strong in her, and we see it manifest many times: with Silver, and with Selina, and with Barbara, and of course with Butch. Unfortunately for Tabitha, she is also a case study in how this doesn't guarantee that such a person will receive a happy ending, as she is unable to avoid karmic justice.

14. Butch Gilzean - I didn't really care about Butch initially, since he didn't seem like anything more than Fish Mooney's affably evil muscle. After he became brainwashed into obeying the Penguin's every command, he gradually became more interesting and sympathetic, and by the time he got romantically involved with Tabitha I had become so accustomed to him and his perversely likable sort of villainy that I couldn't imagine the show without him. But maybe the show would have been better off without him after his death in the Season 3 finale, as the immediate retcon afterward of his real name being Cyrus Gold and his resurrection as Solomon Grundy in Season 4 was just nonsense, especially when he ends up just as dead in the Season 4 finale as he was in the Season 3 finale, so what was even the point? Sometimes, dead is better, and I’m sure Butch would agree.

13. Harvey Bullock - For much of Season 1 it felt like the writers were trying to play Harvey Bullock too seriously, and I think that was a mistake because the character always benefits from being played more broadly, and lord knows that Donal Logue can do that very well. Thankfully, that's exactly how he started to be played more often from Season 2 and onward, with whatever serious arcs he did receive such as in Season 4 benefiting from him being so much more likable as a result. I'd rather watch him on screen than Jim Gordon any day.

12. Leslie Thompkins - While initially kind of bland, Leslie "Lee" Thompkins is a character that grew on me overtime. I felt really sorry for her throughout Seasons 2 and 3 as Jim Gordon proved to be the worst love interest ever, bringing her no end of pain, and then in Seasons 4 and 5 she used that pain and anger to shape herself into a total badass anti-heroine who was still all about helping those in need but now was open to using less than moral means to accomplish this. She's a character who finished the show stronger than she'd ever been, and her and Barbara becoming bros is everything I never knew I needed.

11. Sofia Falcone - Sometimes, a sharp and devious mind is all it takes for someone to be a great villain, and damn did Sofia ever put hers to good use. In the comics, this was a forgettable character who was just an obvious thug in design and demeanor, but Gotham's version is terrifying in how petite and pretty and kind and charitable and all around attractive in every way she is...the perfect way to manipulate others and conceal that on the inside she's beyond just a thug; she's a raging, ruthless, vindictive, amoral sociopath who only cares about herself. And kudos to Crystal Reed, whose performance sold the character perfectly. The only real downside to Sofia is that the writers clearly were forced to write her out earlier than anticipated, and her abrupt exit from the show is nowhere close to being as satisfying as the build-up to her gaining power within the city would lead you to believe.

10. Ra's Al Ghul - As wonderful as Sofia was, there was never any question as to whom Season 4's most formidable villain was: the same villain who is the series' ultimate Big Bad, Ra's Al Ghul. Beyond the phenomenally perfect casting of Alexander Siddig, who is hands down the most comics-accurate portrayal of the character in live-action to date, Ra's benefits from the series positioning him as the final answer to the long-running "who killed Thomas and Martha Wayne?" mystery and totally being able to convince viewers that most of this series' events were according to his plans due to the self-assured, in-control and borderline omnipotent way the Demon's Head carries himself. No-one in Gotham City is left unchanged by his machinations, least of all his chosen "heir" Bruce Wayne. 

9. Hugo Strange - The Big Bad of 2B's "Wrath of the Villains" arc is in the running for the show's most despicable villain. Professor Hugo Strange is a brilliant psychologist and scientist, but he is utterly devoid of a conscience and will do anything to achieve his twisted aspirations, from ruining peoples' lives with his experiments to bringing people back from the dead to personally ordering the death of those he considers to be friends. What makes Strange enjoyable in spite of his depravity is B.D Wong's performance: he looks absolutely perfect as a younger version of Hugo Strange and his voice seems to be channeling Corey Burton's Christopher Lee-inspired take from Batman: Arkham City.  He's a much stronger villain than 2A's Theo Galavan, and tellingly got to return in every following season.

8. Edward Nygma - I really wish I could place Ed higher on this list, since the Riddler is one of my favorite Batman villains and Cory Michael Smith is perfect in the role. But sadly, he's the subject of some really weak writing throughout the show that holds him back from breaching my personal Top 5. Whether it be the constant Nice Guy(TM) hounding of Kristen Kringle, the bizarre Two Face-esque split personality angle, the ungodly stupid Isabella plot device and subsequent clashing with the Penguin because of it, his needless romance with Lee that didn't make sense for either of their characters (which wasn't helped by the fact that it happened at a time where he kept on getting made a fool of in a way that undermined how menacing he was just a season ago), and being used as an obvious red herring in the Haven explosion mystery...he really deserved better material, and it's lucky that Smith makes him so enjoyable to watch since it would otherwise drag him down much further.

7. Jerome Valeska - Cameron Monaghan's performance as Jerome single-handedly forced the Gotham producers' hands when it came to their original plans (or lack thereof) for the Joker in their series, as right off the bat he managed to perfectly capture the same maniacal energy that the likes of Mark Hamill and Heath Ledger did, meaning fans would accept no-one else in the role. While Jerome ends up being more of a test run for the actual Joker - the Beta Joker, so to speak - he still is one of the most frightening and malevolent characters in the show's entire run, spreading chaos for chaos' sake and causing pain to others just because he finds it hilarious, and doing it all in the most theatrical way possible.  

6. Jeremiah Valeska - Yes, I agree that this character's whole basis - Jerome's secret twin brother who actually becomes the Joker - and how he was introduced is unbelievably stupid writing; in hindsight it would have made more sense to just find a way to transition Jerome into this kind of characterization as part of a continued evolution toward becoming the Joker. But we're stuck with Jeremiah, and as it stands he is a much worthier Joker than Jerome was. I don't really like the Joker whenever he's written to have no motivation beyond "random crime and chaos because LOL crazy!!!" - the best Jokers always have a reason for doing what they do, it's just that it's always a twisted reason that holds no basis in reality and just serves as an excuse for the Joker to spread pain and chaos across Gotham City and match wits with Batman. (Ex: Heath Ledger's Joker may say he has no plans and just "does things" as a manipulation tactic, but in reality he does make plans and does have the tangible objective of proving his nihilistic, anarchistic worldview to everyone; Batman in particular.)

Jeremiah's penchant for intricate planning combined with the psychotic objectives that lie behind his plans is what makes him more believable as the Joker compared to Jerome, and it really felt like the show's stakes rose to an entirely new, darker than ever before level when he stepped up to the plate at the end of Season 4. I also love his development: being in denial about his own insanity and likeness to his brother until his personal obsession with Bruce overpowers that and causes him to willingly give into the madness so that he can be a worthy enough foil for Bruce as Gotham's Dark Knight, since that gives his miserable life a sense of purpose. Add to this Cameron Monaghan still pulling off that Joker energy flawlessly and you have a Joker that can stand beside Nicholson, Ledger and Phoenix's portrayals.

5. Barbara Kean - This one really took me by surprise. I knew going into the show that Barbara was considered a poorly written, irritating obstructive love interest to Gordon in Season 1, but that she got Rescued From the Scrappy Heap in the following seasons. What I didn't know was the way that rescuing happened - she goes crazy and becomes a surprise villain in the Season 1 finale, and from then on out she is freaking nuts in the most hilariously over-the-top way, with Erin Richards chewing the scenery for all it's worth. Barbara is so entertaining throughout the various guises and positions she goes through across the series, not to mention a complete badass who you just can't help but respect for being true to herself even if she's an awful human being. Her redemption arc in Season 5 was a beautiful way to bring her journey full-circle, and I don't begrudge her the happy ending she got at all.

4. Alfred Pennyworth - We're all used to Alfred the butler, but Gotham got me accustomed to Alfred the soldier. Sean Pertwee is thoroughly convincing in the role of the hard-assed, frequently grumpy or moody yet caring, loyal and dependable Alfred, whose relationship with young Bruce Wayne is perfectly depicted. The only time I didn't care for him was during 2A, where he was cruel and unfair toward Selina because she killed his treacherous war-time buddy who almost murdered him and was planning on doing harm to Bruce. Thankfully, from the midseason finale and onward he managed to redeem himself, regaining his status as one of the show's best-depicted characters and maintaining it all the way to the end.

3. Bruce Wayne - This character was always going to live or die based on what child actor was playing him, and by God did David Mazouz nail it in his performance. Even putting the dead parents and destiny as Batman aside, Bruce Wayne is clearly not a "normal" kid, being raised in the lap of luxury and privileged to the point of extreme naïveté, with an overly formal way of speaking hammering in his distance from the rest of Gotham City. Watching him grow stronger and smarter and more worldly and responsible as the series progressed was always a pleasure, and he naturally made a far more compelling protagonist than Jim Gordon did, with the show ending on the shot that it does making it even more clear that this was primarily his story all along; just one elongated origin story for the goddamn Batman.

2. Selina Kyle - For quite a while in Season 1, the teenage girl who would be Catwoman spent a lot of time just slinking around the fringes of the story and accomplishing little of value. But once she finally met Bruce, Selina's character really took off, and she ended up becoming my second all-time favorite character in the show. Aside from the strong writing and character development, much is also owed to Camren Bicondova, who is utterly charming in her depiction of the cynical, sharp-tongued, street-smart thief with a heart of gold, and she is even able to make her rushed final transition into Catwoman in Season 5 believable. And kudos to Lili Simmons who plays her in the final episode, she is perfectly convincing as an adult version of Selina, looking and sounding just as I expect Bicondova to in a few years. 

1. Oswald Cobblepot - OK, this is probably an unoriginal choice, but I can't help it - Oswald Cobblepot, aka the Penguin, is the one character on this show who just did no wrong as far as I'm concerned (as a character, I mean, he obviously did a lot wrong morally!) In addition to being the role Robin Lord Taylor was born to play, there is a consistency in the writing of his character and in the quality of his development that I think is unmatched by anyone else in the cast. Aside from that one blip in the Isabella plotline of Season 3 that I credit as more of a blemish on Ed than I do Oswald, he was always a fully three-dimensional character who acted and reacted believably, and he always stayed firmly on the line between being a heinous, ruthless, murderous criminal chiefly seeking power and a tragic, sympathetic, even funny and likable person chiefly seeking love.  And he always remained the "noble villain" when compared to the other villains around him; always the one you could count on to join the heroes and do the right thing when it counted because he's a pragmatist with moral lines he will not cross....and because he loves and believe in Gotham City too, in his own way.

[learningrendezvous]

Women's Studies

BELLY OF THE BEAST

By Erika Cohn, Angela Tucker, Christen Marquez, and Nicole Docta

Filmed over seven years with extraordinary access and intimate accounts from currently and formerly incarcerated people, BELLY OF THE BEAST exposes a pattern of illegal sterilizations, modern-day eugenics and reproductive injustice in California prisons.

When a courageous young woman and a radical lawyer discover a pattern of illegal sterilizations in California's women's prisons, they wage a near-impossible battle against the Department of Corrections. With a growing team of investigators inside prison working with colleagues on the outside, they uncover a series of statewide crimes -- from inadequate health care to sexual assault to coercive sterilizations -- primarily targeting women of color. This shocking legal drama captured over 7-years features extraordinary access and intimate accounts from currently and formerly incarcerated people, demanding attention to a shameful and ongoing legacy of eugenics and reproductive injustice in the United States.

DVD (Color, Closed Captioned) / 2020 / 81 minutes

GLOW: A WILD RIDE TO HEAVEN

Director: Gabriel Baur

"Someone who glows so brightly is not going to grow old," Fellini once prophesied about Irene Staub, aka Lady Shiva, one of the greatest of all Swiss divas. Thanks to her aura and talent, many doors opened for Irene during Zurich's exuberant years between 1968 and the late 1980s. Discovered by a pioneer of Swiss fashion design, she made the break from streetwalking to being part of the fashionable art scene. Finding work as a model, she also pursued her dream of becoming a singer, starting out in a legendary Zurich underground band. But Lady Shiva lived life in the fast lane; torn between the stress and strain of success, a yearning for freedom, and self-destructive urges, she died far too young under circumstances that have never been fully explained.

Using never-before-seen archival footage and interviews with prominent contemporaries, director Gabriel Baur brings us back to a vibrant age of boundless possibilities, in which the sky seemed the only limit for people like Lady Shiva...an age that to this day still kindles a yearning in us.

DVD (German with English Subtitles) / 2020 / 100 minutes

I'M MOSHANTY - DO YOU LOVE ME?

Director: Tim Wolff

The world's second largest island, Papua New Guinea is one of the most dangerous places to be a woman, with 70% reporting that they experienced domestic violence and sexual violence before the age of 15. Sorcery accusation killings and family violence take the lives of thousands of women every year and HIV infection rates are the highest in the Pacific. Transgender women are most often homeless, unemployed, denied education and medical care and living under the constant threat of robbery, rape and murder.

I'm Moshanty - Do You Love Me? Is a musical tribute to the late, legendary South Pacific recording artist and transgender activist Moses Moshanty Tau and the LGBTQI community of Papua New Guinea. With their lives still haunted by colonial-era sodomy laws and deadly religious bigotry, Moshanty stands as a beacon of hope for the transgender and LGBTQI community of the entire South Pacific.

Filmed over a weekend in the fall of 2017 and including her last live performances, the film celebrates the transgender activist with a mother's heart, teeth of gold and a voice like a coronet. Hear her journey from a tiny Motuan village to the top of the regional music industry. In her last interview, she shares her personal truth and her greatest desires as a woman with her millions of fans.

In 2017, a diagnosis of throat cancer threatens to silence the activist and a failed surgery leaves her unable to sing. Finally, an entire nation, from ordinary citizens to Ministers of Parliament, is asked to grieve for their brightest light and their most heavenly voice. Who could ever sing the songs of Moshanty?

DVD (English, Tok Pisin, With English Subtitles) / 2020 / 57 minutes

ALL WE'VE GOT

By Alexis Clements

ALL WE'VE GOT is a personal exploration of LGBTQI women's communities, cultures, and social justice work through the lens of the physical spaces they create, from bars to bookstores to arts and political hubs.

Social groups rely on physical spaces to meet and build connections, step outside oppressive social structures, avoid policing and violence, share information, provide support, and organize politically. Yet, in the past decade, more than 100 bars, bookstores, art and community spaces where LGBTQI women gather have closed. In ALL WE'VE GOT, filmmaker Alexis Clements travels the country to explore the factors driving the loss of these spaces, understand why some are able to endure, and to search for community among the ones that remain. From a lesbian bar in Oklahoma; to the Esperanza Peace & Justice Center in San Antonio run by queer Latinas; to the WOW Cafe Theatre in New York; to the public gatherings organized by the Trans Ladies Picnics around the US and beyond; to the Lesbian Herstory Archives in Brooklyn, the film takes us into diverse LGBTQI spaces and shines a light on why having a place to gather matters. Ultimately, ALL WE'VE GOT is a celebration of the history and resilience of the LGBTQI community and the inclusive spaces they make, as well as a call to action to continue building stronger futures for all communities.

DVD (Color) / 2019 / 67 minutes

BLACK FEMINIST

By Zanah Thirus

BLACK FEMINIST is a lively and illuminating documentary that explores the double-edged sword of racial and gender oppression that Black Women face in America.

Frustrated by the lack of intersectionality in the women's movement and the misogyny plaguing the Black liberation movement, filmmaker Zanah Thirus set out to shine a light on the complexities and power of Black feminism. Featuring interviews with a wide range of scholars, writers, business owners, veterans and comedians including former Ebony Editor-in-Chief Kyra Kyles, professor Carrie Morris, and author Tami Winfrey Harris, the film lays bare the everyday lived experiences of Black Women everywhere.

DVD (Color, Closed Captioned) / 2019 / 53 minutes

NICE CHINESE GIRLS DON'T: KITTY TSUI

By Jennifer Abod

Nice Chinese Girls Don't is a portrait of Kitty Tsui -- an iconic Asian American lesbian, poet, artist, activist, writer, and bodybuilder who came of age in the early days of the Women's Liberation Movement in San Francisco.

In Nice Chinese Girls Don't, Kitty Tsui recounts her emergence as a poet, artist, activist, writer, and bodybuilder in the early days of the Women's Liberation Movement in San Francisco. She narrates her experience of arriving to the States as an immigrant from Hong Kong by way of her own original poetry and stories.

Tsui wrote the groundbreaking Words of a Woman Who Breathes Fire, the first book written by an Asian American lesbian. She is considered by many to be one of the foremothers of the API, Asian Pacific Islander, lesbian feminist movement.

In 2018, APIQWTC, Asian Pacific Islander Queer Women & Transgender Community honored her with the Phoenix Award for lifetime achievement. In 2019, her alma mater, San Francisco State University inducted Tsui into the Alumni Hall of Fame. Her forthcoming books include Nice Chinese Girls Don't, Battle Cry: Poems of Love & Resistance, and Fire Power: Poems of Love & Resilience. Tsui currently lives in Oakland, California, and is writing a screenplay, Unmasked.

DVD (Color, Closed Captioned) / 2019 / 20 minutes

NO TIME TO WASTE: THE URGENT MISSION OF BETTY REID SOSKIN

Directed by Carl Bidleman

Celebrates legendary 99-year-old park ranger Betty Reid Soskin's inspiring life, work and urgent mission to restore critical missing chapters of America's story.

NO TIME TO WASTE celebrates legendary 99-year-old park ranger Betty Reid Soskin's inspiring life, work and urgent mission to restore critical missing chapters of America's story. The film follows her journey as an African American woman presenting her personal story from a kitchen stool in a national park theater to media interviews and international audiences who hang on every word she utters.

The documentary captures her fascinating life—from the experiences of a young Black woman in a WWII segregated union hall, through her multi-faceted career as a singer, activist, mother, legislative representative and park planner to her present public role.

At the Rosie the Riveter/WWII Home Front National Historical Park, Betty illuminates the invisible histories of African Americans and other people of color. Her efforts have changed the way the National Park Service conveys this history to audiences across the U.S., challenging us all to move together toward a more perfect union.

DVD / 2019 / (Grades 7-12, College, Adults) / 52 minutes

NORMAL GIRL, A

Directed by Aubree Bernier-Clarke By Shawna Lipton, Pidgeon Pagonis

A NORMAL GIRL brings the widely unknown struggles of intersex people to light through the story of intersex activist Pidgeon Pagonis.

Activist Pidgeon Pagonis was born intersex, not conforming to standard definitions of male or female, and experienced genital mutilation as a child. Now Pidgeon is fighting the medical establishment, seeking to end medically unnecessary surgeries and human rights abuses on intersex people in the United States and around the world.

An estimated 1.5% of the population is born with intersex traits. While most of these babies are healthy, their bodies are treated as a medical emergency. It is common practice for doctors to perform genital surgeries on intersex infants--often with disastrous results including total loss of genital sensation, lifetime synthetic hormone dependence, and being assigned a gender with which they do not identify.

Through the story of Pidgeon's remarkable journey and fight for bodily self-determination, A NORMAL GIRL brings the widely unknown struggles of intersex people to light.

DVD (Color, Closed Captioned) / 2019 / 14 minutes

SHUSENJO: COMFORT WOMEN AND JAPAN'S WAR ON HISTORY

Director: Miki Dezaki

One of the most heated issues in Japan and Asia today is over something that occurred 80 years ago: the Japanese Imperial Army's sexual enslavement of an estimated tens of thousands of Korean women and others in military brothels during World War II. Many nationalist Japanese conservatives (with the surprising support of Western media influencers) believe the women were mostly willing prostitutes, not 'sex slaves', and that the estimated number is far smaller than are claimed. But contemporary historians, activists and - most significantly - the surviving victims and their families, believe otherwise; the denial of their suffering so long ago has created an entirely new trauma.

Director Miki Dezaki, a second-generation Japanese American who learned about comfort women from his Japanese immigrant parents, questions why accounts in the Western media have often sided with the Nationalists. With a keen eye for detail and precision, he interviews historians, advocates and lawyers who discuss the evidence: historical documents related to the Japanese military's direct role in managing the brothels, and harrowing testimonies by former comfort women. 'Shusenjo' is a deep dive into this impassioned subject - bringing to light the hidden intentions of the supporters and detractors of comfort women.

DVD (English, Japanese, Korean with English Subtitles) / 2019 / 120 minutes

ARCHIVETTES, THE

By Megan Rossman

For more than 40 years, the Lesbian Herstory Archives has combated lesbian invisibility by literally rescuing history from the trash.

Founded in the 1970s in a New York City apartment, The Lesbian Herstory Archives is now the world's largest collection of materials by and about lesbians. For more than 40 years, the all-volunteer organization has striven to combat lesbian invisibility by literally rescuing history from the trash.

Frustrated by misogyny and homophobia within academia, Deborah Edel and Joan Nestle co-founded the archives for those conducting research, both professional and personal. Over the years, the organization has witnessed many of the major milestones in LGBTQ+ history and has weathered several storms. Today, with its founders in their seventies, the archives are facing new challenges, including a change in leadership and the rise of digital technology.

Exploring the fascinating origins of the organization, THE ARCHIVETTES is a tribute to second-wave feminism and intergenerational connection, as well as an urgent rallying cry for continued activism in a politically charged moment.

DVD (Color, Closed Captioned) / 2018 / 61 minutes

FEMALE PLEASURE

By Barbara Miller

#FEMALE PLEASURE accompanies five extraordinary women around the globe fighting to reclaim female sexuality.

The film introduces us to author Deborah Feldman from Brooklyn's Hasidic community, sex educator Vitika Yadav in India, manga artist Rokudenashiko in Japan, Somali activist Leyla Hussein, and former nun Doris Wagner in Europe, courageous women who are all struggling to end the harmful cultural practices like genital mutilation and the shaming of the female orgasm that lie at the root of rape culture and patriarchy. Not only highlighting the issues that have contributed to the sexual marginalization of women, the film also calls these atrocities, embedded within cultural and religious norms, by their actual names: rape, assault, child trafficking, abuse. We witness these female activists who were taught to be silent confronting the very entities that have oppressed them.

Both an urgent call to action and an empowering plea for self-determined joyful female sexuality, #FEMALE PLEASURE is ultimately an inspiring tool to help women, no matter their cultural or religious background, to reclaim their bodies and celebrate their sexuality without shame or suffering.

DVD (English, Japanese, German, Color, Closed Captioned) / 2018 / 101 minutes

TO A MORE PERFECT UNION: U.S. V. WINDSOR

Director: Donna Zaccaro

To A More Perfect Union: U.S. v. Windsor tells a story of love, marriage and a fight for equality. The film chronicles two unlikely heroes, octogenarian Edie Windsor and her attorney, Roberta Kaplan, on their quest for justice: Edie had been forced to pay a huge estate tax bill upon the death of her spouse because the federal government denied federal benefits to same-sex couples...and Edie's spouse was a woman.

Deeply offended by this lack of recognition of her 40+ year relationship with the love of her life, Edie decided to sue the United States government - and won. Beyond the story of this pivotal case in the marriage equality movement, the film also tells the story of our journey as a people, as a culture, and as citizens with equal rights.

Windsor and Kaplan's legal and personal journeys are told in their own words, and through interviews with others, including Lillian Faderman, a leading scholar on LGBTQ history, and Evan Wolfson, who first at Lambda Legal and later as founder of Freedom to Marry was the godfather of marriage equality in the US and now worldwide. Legal observers, including Jeffrey Toobin from CNN and Nina Totenberg of National Public Radio, also lend their insights.

DVD / 2018 / 63 minutes

WE ARE THE RADICAL MONARCHS

Directed by Linda Goldstein Knowlton

Follows the Radical Monarchs, a group of young girls of color on the frontlines of social justice.

Set in Oakland, a city with a deep history of social justice movements, WE ARE THE RADICAL MONARCHS documents the Radical Monarchs--an alternative to the Scout movement for girls of color, aged 8-13. Its members earn badges for completing units on social justice including being an LGBTQ ally, the environment, and disability justice.

The group was started by two fierce, queer women of color, Anayvette Martinez and Marilyn Hollinquest as a way to address and center her daughter's experience as a young brown girl. Their work is anchored in the belief that adolescent girls of color need dedicated spaces and that the foundation for this innovative work must also be rooted in fierce inter-dependent sisterhood, self-love, and hope.

The film follows the first troop of Radical Monarchs for over three years, until they graduate, and documents the Co-Founders' struggle to respond to the needs of communities across the US and grow the organization after the viral explosion of interest in the troop's mission to create and inspire a new generation of social justice activists.

DVD / 2018 / (Grades 4-12, College, Adults) / 86 minutes

YOURS IN SISTERHOOD

By Irene Lusztig

YOURS IN SISTERHOOD is a performative, participatory documentary inspired by the breadth and complexity of letters that were sent in the 1970s to the editor of Ms.- America's first mainstream feminist magazine. The film documents hundreds of strangers from around the U.S. who were invited to read aloud and respond to these letters written by women, men and children from diverse backgrounds. Collectively, the letters feel like an encyclopedia of both the 70s and the women's movement- an almost literal invocation of the second-wave feminist slogan "the personal is political." The intimate, provocative, and sometimes heartbreaking conversations that emerge from these performances invite viewers to think about the past, present, and future of feminism.

DVD (Color) / 2018 / 101 minutes

FEMINISTA: A JOURNEY TO THE HEART OF FEMINISM IN EUROPE

By Myriam Fougere

FEMINISTA is a lively and inspiring feminist road movie that explores the largely unrecognized yet hugely vibrant pan European feminist movement. Filmmaker Myriam Fougere joined an international group of young feminists who were traveling across twenty countries – from Turkey to Portugal, by the way of the Balkans, to Italy, Spain and Portugal – to make connections and unite forces with other women. She witnessed these determined activists participating in political gatherings, supporting homegrown local feminist struggles, exchanging strategies, and inventing new ways to resist and fight for change. Revealing how feminism is transmitted from one generation to another, FEMINISTA provides a rare glimpse into a widespread feminist groundswell movement, possibly one of the largest and unrecognized mass political movements that is very much alive and well throughout Europe today.

DVD (Color) / 2017 / 60 minutes

FINE LINE, A (EDUCATIONAL VERSION)

Directed by Joanna James

Explores why less than 7% of head chefs and restaurant owners are women, when traditionally women have always held the central role in the kitchen.

Featuring intimate interviews with world-renowned chefs like Dominique Crenn, Lidia Bastianich, Cat Cora, Elena Arzak, Elizabeth Falkner, Maria Loi, Sylvia Weinstock, Michael Anthony and others, A FINE LINE explores pressing issues faced by women in the culinary arts and across all industries, including sexual and workplace harassment, access to capital, unequal pay, and lack of paid family leave and affordable childcare.

An uplifting American success story about perseverance, family, and food, A FINE LINE follows the personal story of Valerie James, a small town restaurateur with a larger than life personality who raised Joanna as a single mother on a mission to do what she loves while raising two kids and the odds stacked against her.

DVD / 2017 / (Grades 7-12, College, Adults) / 56 minutes

CATCHING SIGHT OF THELMA & LOUISE

Directed by Jennifer Townsend

Explores the same women's and men's reactions to the groundbreaking film, "Thelma & Louise", 25 years ago and today.

Powerful, authentic, and timely, CATCHING SIGHT OF THELMA & LOUISE dives off the edge into the truth of women's experience in the world. It revisits the journey of Thelma & Louise through the lens of viewers who saw that iconic film in 1991 and shared intimate, personal, stories at that time. The same women and men were tracked down 25 years later. Are their responses different now? Has anything changed in the way women are treated?

Interview commentary mixes with clips from "Thelma & Louise" to reveal why this cinema classic continues to resonate with millions of viewers, the world over. Christopher McDonald, who played Thelma's husband, and Marco St. John, who played the truck driver, offer an insider's viewpoint.

DVD / 2016 / (Grades 10-12, College, Adults) / 86 minutes

REVIVAL, THE: WOMEN AND THE WORD

By Sekiya Dorsett

THE REVIVAL: WOMEN AND THE WORD chronicles the US tour of a group of Black lesbian poets and musicians, who become present-day stewards of a historical movement to build community among queer women of color. Their journey to strengthen their community is enriched by insightful interviews with leading Black feminist thinkers and historians, including Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Nikki Finney, and Alexis Deveaux. As the group tours the country, the film reveals their aspirations and triumphs, as well as the unique identity challenges they face encompassing gender, race, and sexuality. This is a rarely seen look into a special sisterhood - one where marginalized voices are both heard and respected.

DVD (Color, Closed Captioned) / 2016 / 82 minutes

SIBERIAN LOVE

By Olga Delane

In rural Siberia, romantic expectations are traditional and practical. The man is the head of the household. The woman takes care of the housekeeping and the children. But filmmaker Olga Delane doesn't agree. While she was born in this small Siberian village, as a teenager she migrated to Berlin with her family, and 20 years of living in Germany has changed her expectations. SIBERIAN LOVE follows Delane home to her community of birth, where she interviews family and neighbors about their lives and relationships. Amusing and moving, this elegant film paints a picture of a world completely outside of technology, a hard-farming community where life is hard and marriage is sometimes unhappy - but where there are also unexpected paths to joy and family togetherness. Through clashing ideals of modern and traditional womanhood, SIBERIAN LOVE is a fascinating study of a country little known in the US and of a rural community that raises questions about domesticity, gender expectations, domestic abuse, childcare, and romance. Excellent for anthropology, women's studies, sociology, Russian and Eastern European Studies.

DVD (Color) / 2016 / 82 minutes

VOICES OF MUSLIM WOMEN FROM THE US SOUTH

By Maha Marouan and Rachel Raimist

When one thinks of the American Deep South, the image of veiled Muslim students strolling the University of Alabama campus is the last thing that comes to mind. VOICES OF MUSLIM WOMEN FROM THE US SOUTH is a documentary that explores the Muslim culture through the lens of five University of Alabama Muslim students. The film tackles how Muslim women carve a space for self-expression in the Deep South and how they negotiate their identities in a predominantly Christian society that often has unflattering views about Islam and Muslims. Through interviews with students and faculty at Alabama, this film examines representations and issues of agency by asking: How do Muslim female students carve a space in a culture that thinks of Muslims as terrorists and Muslim women as backward?

DVD (Color) / 2015 / 32 minutes

http://www.learningemall.com/News/Women_202101.html

[silverwhiteraven]

Borne of the Stars - Chapter 4 - An MLB Kryptonian AU

Tag List:  @eve-valution @weird-pale-blonde-person @kris-pines04 @soulmate-game @abrx2002 @amayakans @vixen-uchiha @heldtogetherbysafetypins @raisuke06 @dorkus-minimus @captainartsypants @mopester-is-here @moonlightstar64 @annabellabrookes @daminett4life @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-navistar-carol @elspethshadow

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [ Chapter 5 ]

[ A/N: Alright! The Metropolis ‘Intro Arc’ comes to a close, and leads right into a bit of time-skipping! Chapter 5 begins Marinette’s journey into gaining superpowers in strange ways. ]

[ Summary: Answers are given and some backstory is filled in, but blanks still remain. It’s time for new friends to part ways. ]

“Meteor shower?”

Marinette looked quizzically towards her parents, knowing nothing of such an event ever happening. But she also knew there was a chance it had happened before they had ever met her.

Sabine stepped up, a more passive, if not helpless, look of cluelessness on her features. “No, as far as Tom and I are aware, she wasn’t. But, perhaps, she may have been. You see,” she began to elaborate, wrapping a reassuring arm around her daughter alongside her husband, “Marinette is adopted.”

Supergirl blinked at that, and Tom continued where Sabine left off before the superhero could ask any premature questions. 

“There was some kind of accident that happened with her original parents. Not her birth ones as far as the adoption agency knew. They claimed the DNA didn’t match any of the residents where she was found, and there was no birth certificate.” 

Tom patted his daughter’s head and she smiled reassuringly. She knew the story, and came to terms with it long ago. It had never really been a crisis for her, it was simply a fact of her life.

Marinette decided to pick up the tale herself and explain the rest.

“They don't know what exactly caused it, but the whole building had collapsed, and I was the only survivor. They suspected some kind of explosion from the debris. 

“The people who rescued me from the aftermath knew my name was Marinette because of a note that I had been swaddled with, but that was it. The note was too damaged to read anything else, but they suspect it may have been a simple baby-care to-do list for new parents. 

“So, I guess to answer your question… We have no clue. Why? You said you saw something, an old injury, could it have been debris from the accident?” 

Tom pipes up once more to fill in more blanks and open more questions. “There was no report of injuries from that, just your pre-existing scars.”

“And I don’t think they ever checked those,” Sabine adds, “likely assuming they were taken care of before the accident.”

“Scars…” Supergirl mused, looking Marinette over once more. “Marigold, they wouldn't happen to be over your right shoulder, back, and leg, would they?”

The Dupain-Chengs’ eyes were wide as they looked at each other before Marinette stepped closer, pushing down the right shoulder of her re-dawned over-shirt and the shirt underneath, twisting around to be able to show the faint scarring there in strange jagged, spotty patterns. It definitely looked like it had been something done by multiple culprits such as a dense scattering of tiny meteors. Or shrapnel from something much closer. 

Supergirl’s resolve seemed to solidify at the sight and nodded, stepping up closer and pointing to one of the largest of the scars between her shoulder and collarbone, then another at her shoulder blade. “Your back and leg have big ones like these too, right?” A nod in response, and she continues. 

“All of those spots have large chunks of crystals that I suspect might be from… a place I call home. I felt them when I helped you out back there.” Marinette furrowed her brow, wondering if that seeming uncharacteristic weakness and tiredness of the two superheroes had been because of these hidden crystals. Did she somehow really have a weakness to the indestructible heroes just sitting around inside her?

“Oh, sorry for being snippy back there by the way, I thought the crystals had been put in you on purpose, it didn't help that I recognized that other guy, too, I hope you can forgive me, Starshine.” Marinette flushed at the attention, not expecting the apology and another nickname, but she nodded in affirmation to the apology. Supergirl then stepped back as she continued on with a returned nod, and Marinette took it to put her sleeves back in place. 

“Anyways, I’ll bet my hat, metaphorically of course, that all the smaller pieces were removed by your body naturally as you grew, but the bigger ones stuck around. Get those checked out, long term exposure of my homeworld’s rocks can have bad effects on humans. To have none so far, you're lucky. Well, as lucky as you can get with already having, ya’know… Yeah…” The hero looked sheepish now, and Marinette just laughed softly, Tom and Sabine chuckling behind her.

“We’ll be sure to get it taken care of,” Marinette nods glad to have gotten help for something she hadn't even known was wrong. “Thank you, Supergirl. For everything.”

“Hah, it was nothin’,” the hero grins, reaching up to touch her hair, and instead clocked herself in the temple with Marinette’s sketchbook that she still held. “Owch! Oh! Ha-hah, that- that's definitely not mine, here- Actually…” Before she hands it back, she pulls one of the pencils out from between the bindings and scribbles down into the blank spaces between the Superman sketches. 

When Marinette finally takes the sketchbook back, there's two names and two numbers. The first, situated below the most detailed of the Superman designs, is the name Clark Kent, and a number labeled personal cell. The second number is vertically written between the Supergirl skirt and the sash design Supergirl had been admiring, and the name was Supergirl, also labeled with personal cell. 

Marinette’s eyes go wide at both, and she slams the sketchbook closed to hide them from prying eyes. “But these are-! You-! I can’t-!” 

She’s cut off by a full and gleeful laugh from the superhero. “Geode, It’s fine, don't worry ‘bout it! Really! Superman already told me to give you Kent’s for your reporter friend, the other one you can just consider an emergency contact for anything about those crystals you’ve got. That's acceptable, right? Good!” she beams when Marinette gives a speechless nod, and the designer could swear that Supergirl was actually doing something to make herself glow with the sun framing her from above her head. 

“I should be heading off then,” the superhero continued, and her glow dimmed with it, but she stayed grinning and proud, more content in the moment. “Think you need anything else or we good?”

Having a quick thought, Marinette reached into her back and slipped out one of her home-made business cards. She never actually used them, she wasn't ready to start her own business just yet, but they were convenient if she ever needed to give her contact info to anyone. This was as good a time as any to put them to use. 

She stepped up quickly and grabbed Supergirl’s hand in her own, slipping the paper into the other teen’s fingers. 

“Thank you again, Supergirl, I mean it. Thank you.”

The hero softens just a bit as she looks back at the bright, dirt covered girl she rescued from the Daily Planet’s main symbol. Her grin returns full force and she winks. “Any time, cutie, it’s what I do.” 

Marinette let's go with a laugh at the superhero’s antics, and finally releases her hand. 

With a wave from both Supergirl and the Dupain-Chengs, they part ways. 

A few things happen for Marinette after that day in Metropolis. 

First, after Marinette got back to the hotel her family was staying in, she made a call to Alya back in Paris. She told her about the villain attack, the destruction, and the heroes rescuing her. She made sure to spare any and every personal detail, both of her own and of the heroes’. Marinette didn't want to be teased or prodded about it, and she strongly guessed the heroes didn't want the wrong things getting out. Alya had dropped her phone upon hearing about her getting not just the contact for a well known reporter, but also securing a promise for an interview in her name. Alya at least gracefully respected that Marinette refused to give up the number, and planned to set the interview up herself to make sure she didn't break their trust in her.

After that, Marinette and her parents discussed the whole alien crystals in her body thing, and decided they should get them removed as soon as they returned home, not wanting their daughter recovering from surgeries like that while travelling. Figuring Supergirl would be too busy to answer a call, she sent a text instead about the decision. A fitting string of emojis followed by a ‘sweet! update me soon, ttyl’ was the reply.

Marinette didn't encounter either of the Super-Duo for the rest of her trip, but she texted the teen again a few days before they were set to leave. She asked about music recommendations, stating a desire to get a gift of CDs or records for one of her long-time best friends back home. Not only did she get a good long list of album recommendations, but also a short list of the best music stores in the city, in order of ‘best to still-best-but-slightly-less-awesome’, as Supergirl put it. 

After the Dupain-Chengs returned to Paris, the renovations of the bakery almost complete, they set up everything they needed for the removal of the foreign crystals. Once more, Marinette made sure to text Supergirl. And this time, they did see each other again. The American hero flew all the way to France to bring Marinette something, a Non-Disclosure Agreement for the doctors handling Marinette and the crystals. Apparently, her and her cousin used them in emergencies to keep their identities safe, and their weaknesses out of the wrong hands, as best they could. It only confirmed for Marinette that the crystals were indeed weaknesses to them, and she vowed to keep them secret.

Supergirl stayed in Paris to oversee the surgeries, despite how much it embarrassed Marinatte to have a superhero acting like a bodyguard at the hospital, let alone how much the girl told the hero it was alright to leave her on her own. Yet again, Marinette vowed to never tell Alya. She made the hero swear to it, too, though she was sure that promise wouldn't hold if Alya ever got an interview. Truthfully, she wouldn't really hold the other teen to it anyways, but it was nice to know Supergirl would still make the effort to keep it the promise. 

After the crystals were removed and Marinette was home free, Supergirl handed her a leather-bound wooden box, decorated in brass bands and studs, and lined on the inside with lead and velvet. Inside sat several chunks of glowing, ethereal crystals. Most of them were shades of green, but one sat in the center and radiated a brilliant gold. Each had been carefully coated in something clear, meant to prevent skin-to-skin contact when handling, without diminishing the beauty.

“Kryptonite,” Supergirl confessed with a sheepish grin. “Pieces of Krypton, the home planet Kryptonians like Kal-El and I are from. You kept them safe without even knowing it, I can’t imagine how safe they'll be now that you know they're here. Better than being anywhere near us or our enemies, am I right?”

Marinette had laughed, exasperated at Supergirl’s antics, but decided, for once, not to refuse the gift, and accept the new responsibility that came with them. It was the least she could do for a friend from an ocean and a few galaxies away. 

After a few weeks in Paris, Supergirl had to go back to Metropolis a week before Marinette’s last year of collège started, admitting to needing to return to start her first year of high school. 

Her final statement to Marinette had been to make a bet.

Marinette had laughed and fallen down giggling when she first expressed her want to make it. She was so used to Kim and Alix doing the same thing, realizing that they would get along well with Supergirl if they ever met. 

“Geode!” She had called out and declared with the largest air of confidence she could muster, “Geode, Blue Starshine, Princess, Macaroon, Cookie Dough, Buttercup, Blossom, Lil’ Butterfly, Darlin’, Cutie. Marinette! I mean it, and this is my bet! I am going to learn French! It’s going to suck, and I’m going to hate it, but you learned English, so I’ll try to learn something else, too, and maybe I’ll do it in time to surprise you with how awesome I am at it next year.”

“And if you can’t do it?” Marinette had giggled, the last of her laughter simmering down after the bold declaration. 

“I won’t,” was the answer. Yet she still added, “But if I do fail, I’ll take you to the one place only Kal and I can go, a little piece of Home on Earth. Deal?”

Marinette softened at the whole thing, and nodded with a soft smile.

“Deal.”

[hamliet]

Reflections of Su XiYan in Scum Villain’s Female Characters

I did not realize it was MXTX ladies week until yesterday. :( So I want to do a post/meta on the amazing women in each novel (not without critique), so let’s start with MXTX’s first one!

Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, which while it may have more obvious narrative flaws than TGCF or MDZS (it sets up some plot points it kinda drops later, whereas TGCF and MDZS pretty much maximize every single aspect of potential), I actually think is just as rich, clever, and coherent thematically as MXTX’s latter two novels.

The plot points that are dropped, though, are actually almost entirely related to the set up the female characters as deconstructing the idea that they were just things for Original!Luo BingHe to collect. While it does do this to an extent with Su XiYan, Ning YingYing, and Sha HuaLing, it kinda… dropped the arcs halfway through for Ning YingYing and Sha HuaLing, and sets up but never really begins Liu MingYan’s and Qin WanYue’s. 

Su XiYan’s arc, though, despite it taking place in the past and being told to us, is entirely about refuting the role the men in her life ascribe to her... and all of the other female characters--all members of Original!Luo BingHe’s harem--represent a part of her. You could get, like, really Oedipal if you wanted to, but I’d rather not beyond simply saying it’s a pattern in stories that is definitely present here. Aspects of her story and character are reflected in each of the women who are love interests in Proud Immortal Demon Way. 

Our first refutation of how men treat and categorize Su XiYan is through her foiling with Ning YingYing. 

Shen Yuan notes that Shen Jiu sexually harassed Ning YingYing:

the original Shen Qingqiu had designs on Ning Yingying... [he] had dirty thoughts towards his lively and well-behaved disciples. Several times he tried to lay hands on them and almost succeeded at that.

Which is what the Old Palace Master did to Su XiYan:

He turned to focus his stare on Luo Binghe’s quietly sleeping face... nThe Old Palace Master gazed at him for a long while then sighed: “When you close your eyes, you resemble her the most. And also when you’re being cold.”

His eyes traveled over Luo Binghe’s face greedily. If he still had hands, he would have reached out to fondle as well.

However, the Old Palace Master never got anywhere with Su XiYan, because she fell in love with someone else and thereby refutes the idea that she’s his tool. In the original, Ning YingYing is rescued by Luo BingHe in the original. In the novel, Ning YingYing’s arc is about her discovering self-sufficiency. She doesn’t need rescuing from Luo BingHe; she can rescue herself, as is shown when she leads Ming Fan and the other disciples into a fight to protect Shen QingQiu’s honor after his arrest. When someone slaps her, she slaps back, twice--but Shen QingQiu gives her the energy. I would have liked (and think her arc was heading towards) her to grow to be competent on her own as well. 

Next, Sha HuaLing.  

Sha HuaLing represents TianLang-Jun’s assumptions about Su XiYan: that she was a deceptive seductress who would betray him for her own desires. However, in reality, like Sha HuaLing does in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Su XiYan betrays her race (for her, humanity, for Sha HuaLing, demons) for love. 

Sha Hualing was a pure-blooded demon, cruel and ruthless, cunning and artful, but fell irrevocably for Luo Binghe. After getting together with Luo Binghe, don’t even speak about killing for him; she even dared to do an outrageous thing like betraying the demons for him. 

Su XiYan, however, was never given the chance to fight back. In the actual novel, Sha HuaLing does much the same (betrays the demons), but Luo BingHe does not love her and she knows it. I think this is a good ending place for Sha HuaLing, assigned to fight against her father in the final battle (which she does), but we’re told rather than shown her development and we’re not told what led to this decision, which is a shame. 

Sha HuaLing is perhaps most directly foiled both in Proud Immortal Demon Way and in SVSSS by Qin WanYue. 

Qin WanYue, much like Su XiYan, is considered the perfect disciple of the Huan Hua Palace. Regarding Su XiYan, it’s noted: 

“That woman had shocking talent, was intelligent and sensitive when making decisions, and she had the aura of a tyrant. The Old Palace Master loved and cared for this private disciple. He thought of her as a pearl that should be protected in his hands and trained her to be the next Palace Master of Huan Hua Palace. No matter where he went, he would bring Su Xiyan along with him. The importance that he placed in her was abnormal.”

Qin WanYue’s symbol is a pearl that lights the way.

Luo Binghe picked up Qin Wanyue’s Night Pearl that had fallen to the ground and raised it high, as though it were a beacon. It awakened those who had frozen in place.

Not to mention in the original novel Qin WanYue loses a child in a miscarriage caused by someone else (Sha HuaLing) much like Su XiYan almost lost Luo BingHe when pregnant with him. Qin WanYue clings to Luo BingHe after the loss of her sister as something who might be able to offer her happiness. She’s not much different than Luo BingHe growing up parents and clinging to ShiZun: she who lost her sister and then clings to the person who saved her. But in her case, Luo BingHe does not return her affection, and I really had hoped/ expected her arc to end with her finding her own path.

Qin WanYue is also tasked with an action beneath her (much like Sha HuaLing): taking care of the Little Palace Mistress, the Old Palace Master’s literal daughter and hence another foil to Su XiYan. Her defining trait is her pettiness and cruelty, the latter of which Su XiYan is also said to have been capable of, as she began spending time with TianLang-Jun in an attempt to bring him down.

However, the mistress isn’t really set up with the potential for an arc like Qin WanYue is. 

From time to time [Qin WanYue] would cast a teary glance at Luo Binghe, as if expecting something...

[Sha HuaLing:] “how many times have you failed to seduce the lord yet still refuse to leave? If you don’t leave that’s fine, but you’re incapable of looking after even a single person. Her cultivation isn’t even as high as yours. You’re her senior martial sister. You didn’t stop her early and didn’t stop her late. All you did was to let her make this unreasonable scene in front of the lord. Who are you putting on this pitiful and wronged appearance for?”

Qin WanYue isn’t weak at all, but she puts on a weak act for Luo BingHe, hoping to attract a rescuer like she needed back then. I initially expected her arc to end with her accepting her strength and moving on form Luo BingHe (and from the little palace mistress). I still think it should have. 

And then we have Qiu HaiTang, whom I don’t think is set up as much for development as the others despite having more backstory on her. 

Still, Qiu HaiTang she was a woman mistreated and shamed by what had happened with her fiance Shen Jiu--just like Su XiYan was shamed for what happened with TianLang-Jun. 

“That’s right, if she hadn’t been so ill-fated as to fall for Tianlang-Jun’s wiles, she would have had such a bright and promising future and be a person of great renown today.”

“I don’t care what fantastic rewards are promised to me━having an affair with a demon and getting knocked up with a monster child is just plain disgusting. This kind of merit, I wouldn’t accept even if it was served to me on a silver platter.”

“Su Xiyan was probably too ashamed to remain, and thus ran away from the sect master.”

The thing is, all these roles--perfect disciple with great potential, brave enough to betray everything for love, endearing and caring, mistreated--none of these really capture the complexity and beauty of who Su XiYan really was... which is represented in Liu MingYan, the noted female counterpart to Luo BingHe, the main female lead. Liu MingYan conceals her face, which is too beautiful to be seen. 

Liu MingYan, like Si XiYan, remains mysterious; Shen QingQiu never sees her face uncovered, and the audience never really gets a clue as to what is going on in her head besides the mention that she cares deeply for her brother. Again, this is something I think could have and should have been developed more; she has the set-up for an arc with her conflict with Sha HuaLing being dazzled by her beauty and with her loyalty to her sect and brother, but it doesn’t go anywhere. She said to be “the number one female lead!” after all, and I think it’s entirely possible for her to maintain her aura of mystery and still... have an arc. Su XiYan did, after all, and she was dead before the novel began.

In the end, no one really can define whom Su XiYan was exactly, because she’s dead. What ultimately mattered, what defined Su XiYan’s legacy, was her final choice to save her son (and yes, it’s fair to critique that it’s again about a man, but it’s her choice). That’s why the story, in its penultimate chapter, has Shen QingQiu telling Luo BingHe: 

“Su Xiyan risked her life to give birth to you... 

“If I were in her shoes, I would not hesitate to drink [the poison for a fetus] regardless of how lethal it is. Then, after escaping from the water prison, I would absorb it all into my own body. Regardless of how agonizing and horrifying the process is, regardless of the price to be paid, regardless of whether it would be a painful death, I would never let this child suffer any harm.

“This is how I see it. You can take it as just an interpretation because there is no one who can tell you what Su Xiyan was thinking before she breathed her last. But if she really saw you as a disgrace, she didn’t need to do anything more. She could have just lowered you into the Luo River, on the coldest days of the year, in a harsh and frozen landscape━how could you possibly survive?... she also need not use the last of her strength and energy to put you in a wooden basin and push you away to safety…… You don’t even need to wait for someone to save you at all since you would have already become a wandering soul who met his freezing end in Luo River.

He’s healed, and he no longer needs to try to recreate his mother figure in over a thousand beautiful women like he did in the past. He can heal. 

Imo, it would have been even more powerful if the women then stepped out of these roles more completely, and became their own people. But I really do like all four of the main women I discussed here, and someday I’ll write more for them. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Why I won't buy an Ipad: ten years later

Ten years ago, Apple released the Ipad. I was in a hotel room in Seattle, jetlagged and awake at 4AM while my wife and daughter slept.

I had been thinking about Apple's impending Ipad release and what a reversal it meant for everything I loved about tech: taking away your right to decide whose code you'd run -- even your right to change the battery! I wrote about my feelings and many people read it. It even rated a mention in Walter Isaacson's biography of Steve Jobs.

A decade later, the Ipad is ten years old and Apple has killed 20 state Right to Repair bills, in part to lock out third parties who might change you batteries for you.

I just reread that piece, and I still stand by it.

Why I won't buy an iPad (and think you shouldn't, either)

I've spent ten years now on Boing Boing, finding cool things that people have done and made and writing about them. Most of the really exciting stuff hasn't come from big corporations with enormous budgets, it's come from experimentalist amateurs. These people were able to make stuff and put it in the public's eye and even sell it without having to submit to the whims of a single company that had declared itself gatekeeper for your phone and other personal technology.

Danny O'Brien does a very good job of explaining why I'm completely uninterested in buying an iPad -- it really feels like the second coming of the CD-ROM "revolution" in which "content" people proclaimed that they were going to remake media by producing expensive (to make and to buy) products. I was a CD-ROM programmer at the start of my tech career, and I felt that excitement, too, and lived through it to see how wrong I was, how open platforms and experimental amateurs would eventually beat out the spendy, slick pros.

I remember the early days of the web -- and the last days of CD ROM -- when there was this mainstream consensus that the web and PCs were too durned geeky and difficult and unpredictable for "my mom" (it's amazing how many tech people have an incredibly low opinion of their mothers). If I had a share of AOL for every time someone told me that the web would die because AOL was so easy and the web was full of garbage, I'd have a lot of AOL shares.

And they wouldn't be worth much.

Incumbents made bad revolutionaries Relying on incumbents to produce your revolutions is not a good strategy. They're apt to take all the stuff that makes their products great and try to use technology to charge you extra for it, or prohibit it altogether.

I mean, look at that Marvel app (just look at it). I was a comic-book kid, and I'm a comic-book grownup, and the thing that made comics for me was sharing them. If there was ever a medium that relied on kids swapping their purchases around to build an audience, it was comics. And the used market for comics! It was -- and is -- huge, and vital. I can't even count how many times I've gone spelunking in the used comic-bins at a great and musty store to find back issues that I'd missed, or sample new titles on the cheap. (It's part of a multigenerational tradition in my family -- my mom's father used to take her and her sibs down to Dragon Lady Comics on Queen Street in Toronto every weekend to swap their old comics for credit and get new ones).

So what does Marvel do to "enhance" its comics? They take away the right to give, sell or loan your comics. What an improvement. Way to take the joyous, marvellous sharing and bonding experience of comic reading and turn it into a passive, lonely undertaking that isolates, rather than unites. Nice one, Misney.

Infantalizing hardware Then there's the device itself: clearly there's a lot of thoughtfulness and smarts that went into the design. But there's also a palpable contempt for the owner. I believe -- really believe -- in the stirring words of the Maker Manifesto: if you can't open it, you don't own it. Screws not glue. The original Apple ][+ came with schematics for the circuit boards, and birthed a generation of hardware and software hackers who upended the world for the better. If you wanted your kid to grow up to be a confident, entrepreneurial, and firmly in the camp that believes that you should forever be rearranging the world to make it better, you bought her an Apple ][+.

But with the iPad, it seems like Apple's model customer is that same stupid stereotype of a technophobic, timid, scatterbrained mother as appears in a billion renditions of "that's too complicated for my mom" (listen to the pundits extol the virtues of the iPad and time how long it takes for them to explain that here, finally, is something that isn't too complicated for their poor old mothers).

The model of interaction with the iPad is to be a "consumer," what William Gibson memorably described as "something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It's covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth... no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote."

The way you improve your iPad isn't to figure out how it works and making it better. The way you improve the iPad is to buy iApps. Buying an iPad for your kids isn't a means of jump-starting the realization that the world is yours to take apart and reassemble; it's a way of telling your offspring that even changing the batteries is something you have to leave to the professionals.

Dale Dougherty's piece on Hypercard and its influence on a generation of young hackers is a must-read on this. I got my start as a Hypercard programmer, and it was Hypercard's gentle and intuitive introduction to the idea of remaking the world that made me consider a career in computers.

Wal-Martization of the software channel And let's look at the iStore. For a company whose CEO professes a hatred of DRM, Apple sure has made DRM its alpha and omega. Having gotten into business with the two industries that most believe that you shouldn't be able to modify your hardware, load your own software on it, write software for it, override instructions given to it by the mothership (the entertainment industry and the phone companies), Apple has defined its business around these principles. It uses DRM to control what can run on your devices, which means that Apple's customers can't take their "iContent" with them to competing devices, and Apple developers can't sell on their own terms.

The iStore lock-in doesn't make life better for Apple's customers or Apple's developers. As an adult, I want to be able to choose whose stuff I buy and whom I trust to evaluate that stuff. I don't want my universe of apps constrained to the stuff that the Cupertino Politburo decides to allow for its platform. And as a copyright holder and creator, I don't want a single, Wal-Mart-like channel that controls access to my audience and dictates what is and is not acceptable material for me to create. The last time I posted about this, we got a string of apologies for Apple's abusive contractual terms for developers, but the best one was, "Did you think that access to a platform where you can make a fortune would come without strings attached?" I read it in Don Corleone's voice and it sounded just right. Of course I believe in a market where competition can take place without bending my knee to a company that has erected a drawbridge between me and my customers!

Journalism is looking for a daddy figure I think that the press has been all over the iPad because Apple puts on a good show, and because everyone in journalism-land is looking for a daddy figure who'll promise them that their audience will go back to paying for their stuff. The reason people have stopped paying for a lot of "content" isn't just that they can get it for free, though: it's that they can get lots of competing stuff for free, too. The open platform has allowed for an explosion of new material, some of it rough-hewn, some of it slick as the pros, most of it targetted more narrowly than the old media ever managed. Rupert Murdoch can rattle his saber all he likes about taking his content out of Google, but I say do it, Rupert. We'll miss your fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the Web so little that we'll hardly notice it, and we'll have no trouble finding material to fill the void.

Just like the gadget press is full of devices that gadget bloggers need (and that no one else cares about), the mainstream press is full of stories that affirm the internal media consensus. Yesterday's empires do something sacred and vital and most of all grown up, and that other adults will eventually come along to move us all away from the kids' playground that is the wild web, with its amateur content and lack of proprietary channels where exclusive deals can be made. We'll move back into the walled gardens that best return shareholder value to the investors who haven't updated their portfolios since before eTrade came online.

But the real economics of iPad publishing tell a different story: even a stellar iPad sales performance isn't going to do much to stanch the bleeding from traditional publishing. Wishful thinking and a nostalgia for the good old days of lockdown won't bring customers back through the door.

Gadgets come and gadgets go Gadgets come and gadgets go. The iPad you buy today will be e-waste in a year or two (less, if you decide not to pay to have the battery changed for you). The real issue isn't the capabilities of the piece of plastic you unwrap today, but the technical and social infrastructure that accompanies it.

If you want to live in the creative universe where anyone with a cool idea can make it and give it to you to run on your hardware, the iPad isn't for you.

If you want to live in the fair world where you get to keep (or give away) the stuff you buy, the iPad isn't for you.

If you want to write code for a platform where the only thing that determines whether you're going to succeed with it is whether your audience loves it, the iPad isn't for you.

https://boingboing.net/2020/01/27/nascent-boulangism.html

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

Counter Clockwise - Chapter 1 - A Familiar Land

[This was originally done as a live-write on the LU discord server for Time Week. Warning: This fic, and this series of fics as a whole, will get quite dark. Not necessarily now, but it will get progressively more extreme.]

Read it on AO3

The clashing of swords and growls of monsters seemed to echo over the empty field. Time wasn't sure where he was, or where the rest of the group was. The land around him felt familiar, extremely unnervingly familiar. He moved forwards through the sparse trees, following the slowly growing louder shouts of fighting. He unsheathed his sword once he spotted the first monster ahead of him.

A familiar ugly looking chu-chu, a sickly-looking green color with a creepy grin, and were those teeth?

He ran the monster through, ending it quickly with his claymore. He glanced around, Twilight being the closest fighting off a Wolfos. They weren't anywhere near the woods, and as he looked around, something caught his eye. There, hanging in the sky above the tall walls of a small town, a tall clocktower visible from outside the town, was the moon.

Except, it wasn't just the moon. No, because Hylia forbid he gets that small mercy.

No.

It was that same terrifying grimacing face that had tormented his second and final quest.

He could feel himself start shaking, he could barely hear Twilight start calling out to him. At some point, he felt a hand rest on his arm, startling him out of his downward spiral.

"Time, we need to get out of here."

He could feel himself agree, nodding as Twilight grabbed his hand and started leading him to the town. It was funny in a way, being led around like a child by his decedent. He barely registered when they entered the town, barely noticed that he had been pulled towards a familiar building. The sign on the counter designating it as the "Stock Pot Inn".

He flinched when he heard the door slam behind them, once again being startled out of his thoughts and to take in the room around him. Wild was sitting on the bench in front of the reception desk, holding onto his left arm as if it pained him. Next to him was a dazed-looking Four, his eyes were subtly shifting as if the light from the lamp was altering the color of his eyes.

"What happened?" Time asked, looking between his protege and the two wounded boys.

"I think the portal separated us," Twilight spoke, moving towards Wild, red potion in hand. "I never saw any of the others, not even able to sense them with Wolfie."

'That's not a good sign.' Time thought, grimacing when Wild flinched at the potion that was applied to the large and deep fang-shaped gash on his arm.

"What happened anyway?"

"Four and I were fighting some of those ugly chu-chus, trying to get some distance and get to safety, when a pack of Wolfos came out of the woods behind us," Wild said, gesturing to the still dazed Four. "Intelligent bastards. One of them fucking latched onto my arm and shook me around by its teeth and threw me into Four. The only reason we got out of there without any terrible injuries was cuz Twi found us."

"Language, cub," Twilight mumbled, as he bandaged the others' arm.

Time sighed, shaking his head in vague amusement at the wild child. He looked over to the Reception Desk, expecting to see the lady that normally ran it, but instead, no one seemed to be there. He found himself approaching the desk, lightly hitting the bell on the desk. Then the door opened on the other side of the desk. His eyes widened.

"Sorry about that," the tall, blue-purple haired man spoke as he closed the door behind him, then froze upon seeing Time, "H-How may I help you... Link? Is that... you?"

Time felt his heartbeat loudly in his ears, seeing someone that was just so achingly familiar, despite how the years have slightly altered the man’s appearance. Grey peeked out from vibrant purple-blue hair, and the smallest hint of scruffle and smile lines were clear on the man’s face. He tried to push the emotions beginning to surface down, attempting to school his expression into a neutral one. But he found that he couldn’t fight them, and soon, he found words spilling out against his will.

“Kafei? That’s your name, right?”

The man’s eyes brightened, crinkling at the sides as his smile turned more genuine than the fake, customer-appeasing one he wore before.

“It’s been a long time, huh? You’ve grown up.” Kafei chuckled, and Time found himself smiling as well, “I can’t thank you enough for what you did all those years ago. Anju and I are so happy together, it’s really been the best years of my life.”

Time’s thoughts drifted at his words, thinking just how similarly he thought of his life with Malon. It was contagious, Kafei’s happiness and thankfulness, but he couldn’t bring himself to take all of the credit.

“You cannot thank me for everything, it was your decision to marry her in the first place after all.”

“Still, I want to thank you properly for all that you’ve done for us.”

Time found himself relaxing ever so slightly, shaking his head, not wanting to accept any repayment for something he had chosen to do. Though he wanted to continue to talk, to just have a normal conversation with someone who was so familiar to him, however short a time it was, he knew that the needs of the group came before his own desires, not to mention the quiet questioning glances he could tell Twilight and Wild were giving each other.

“Do you happen to have any rooms available? My companions and I need a place to stay for the night, or a few nights if you’ll allow us.”

"Of course, we have rooms with three beds, but no more than that. If you'd like, you could rent two rooms. It would cost you... maybe 250 rupees, though that’s just for one night." Kafei spoke, rifling through the guest book on the counter, only to pause for a bit before looking back at Time, “I think I could get you a room with three beds for 120 rupees for as long as you’d like. Just don’t tell Anju.”

Time smiled, agreeing to the single room and paying the fee. Kafei handed over the key and Time then turning to help Twilight gather Wild and Four up the stairs and down the hall towards the room they had gotten. Once inside, and Four was carefully situated in a bed, Twilight approached him.

“You spent quite a while talking with that man, I take it you know him?”

“Yes, I do. This is Termina, my second adventure… I had hoped that we would never need to step foot here.”

“Is this place dangerous?” Twilight asked, and Time thought for a moment.

“In a way… but we’ll find the others, of that I’m sure.”

Twilight gave him a look, worry evident on his face, but Time just chuckled, ruffling his protégé’s hair.

“Get some rest, pup. We have much to do in the morning.”

Twilight, though still unsure, nodded and headed towards the bed that Four was occupying. Shifting to Wolf form, he climbed on, settling himself near the smallest hero, keeping an eye on him. Wild was already asleep once he hit the mattress, and Time took the last one, though he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Thoughts had begun to run rampant, worry gnawing away at the few positive thoughts he still had. The what-ifs and uncertainties kept him restless, tossing and turning as he tried to quiet his mind. It had been too long since he had felt like this… and it was obvious to him why of all times he was feeling this way.

'It just had to be here...'

[minervacasterly]

~QUEEN ELIZABETH'S FINAL YEARS~

"Towards the end of Elizabeth I’s reign, her face and body ravaged by time, sickness and toxic cosmetics, she was obliged to undergo an increasingly elaborate ritual to preserve the so-called ‘mask of youth’. When she emerged, triumphant, in front of the public court, she was Gloriana once more, bedecked in dazzling gowns, bejewelled wigs and thick layers of white make-up, and could just about fool her adoring subjects that she was still the most desirable woman in Europe. A visitor to her court in 1599 was amazed to see the queen, now well into her sixties, looking ‘very youthful still in appearance, seeming no more than twenty years of age.’

Only in the privacy of her ‘secret lodgings’ at court was Elizabeth’s true self revealed to the handful of trusted ladies who were permitted to attend her.

... the queen was not willing to relinquish the battle for sexual supremacy quite yet. She appeared at court bedecked in increasingly lavish and brightly coloured gowns, but ordered her ladies to wear only black or white. Not all of them were prepared to acquiesce. Lady Mary Howard was one of the most audacious and disrespectful members of the queen’s entourage. One day she appeared at court dressed in an ostentatious gown made from a rich velvet and ‘powdered with gold and pearl’. An associate of Sir John Harington recalled the envious looks that were cast her way, not least from the queen, who realised the gown ‘exceeded her own’. Intent upon revenge, a few days later the queen ordered a servant to steal the dress from Lady Mary’s chamber and bring it to her. Elizabeth was considerably taller than Lady Mary, so the gown was far too short for her. Undeterred, she paraded in it before her ladies, demanding to know ‘How they liked her new-fancied suit?’ When nobody answered, the queen addressed the question to Lady Mary herself, who resentfully snapped that it was ‘too short and ill becoming’. ‘Why then,’ Elizabeth retorted, ‘if it become not me, as being too short, I am minded it shall never become thee, as being too fine; so it fitteth neither well.’

... In the later years of Elizabeth’s reign, her ladies were obliged to spend ever more time applying her makeup and other adornments in order to conceal the marks of age. Although the queen had originally worn wigs that matched her own colouring, these now concealed a head of thinning, grey hair. There is some evidence to suggest that her hair might have started to turn grey when she was still young. A lock of greying red hair preserved at Wilton House is reputed to have been given by Elizabeth to Philip Sidney in 1572, when she was thirty-nine, although another source dates the gift to 1582. Certainly, by 1596, when Elizabeth was in her mid-fifties, her famous copper tresses had faded to grey

...increasingly thick layers of makeup were applied to maintain the so-called ‘mask of youth’, as well as to keep up with Italian fashions. Educated as a humanist princess, Elizabeth had always embraced Italian ideals and influences, and it had not taken long for the fresh-faced beauty that typified her early reign to be replaced by the highly painted visage favoured by Italian ladies. As ever, the fashions at court had been quickly replicated by those lower down the social scale. It was ‘a rare face if it be not painted’, according to a satirical broadside of the period, which poked fun at the lengths that the women of London would go to in their quest for everlasting beauty:

Waters she hath to make her face to shine,

Confections, eke, to clarify her skin;

Lip salve and cloths of a rich scarlet dye . . .

Ointment, wherewith she sprinkles o’er her face,

And lustrifies her beauty’s dying grace . . .

Storax and spikenard, she burns in her chamber,

And daubs herself with civet, musk, and amber.

The queen tried to keep her forehead wrinkle-free by having it regularly pasted with curd skimmed off posset, a creamy drink made from milk mixed with sugar, wine or ale. She also used a cleansing lotion made from two newly laid eggs and their shells, burnt alum, powdered sugar, borax and poppy seeds ground with water. It was believed to whiten, smooth and soften the skin. Once Elizabeth’s skin had been cleansed and treated, her entire face, neck and hands were painted with ceruse (a mixture of white lead and vinegar) in order to achieve the palest possible complexion. This was the ideal for well-born ladies because it proved that they lived a life of genteel leisure, as opposed to the women whose skin was coloured by the sun from many hours of working outdoors. To create a dramatic contrast to her pale skin, Elizabeth’s lips and cheeks were coloured with a red paste made from beeswax, cochineal and plant dye, and her eyes were lined with kohl. Although they helped to conceal the ravages of time, some of these concoctions were so toxic that they did more damage to the skin than ageing ever could.

...In the queen’s favour was the fact she remained in good health, despite the occasional bout of illness – such as during de Maisse’s visit in 1597, when she claimed to have been ‘very ill with a gathering on the right side of her face’. She assured the ambassador that ‘she did not remember ever to have been so ill before’. He suspected that this was merely an excuse for not seeing him earlier, however, and observed: ‘I should never have thought [it] seeing her eyes and face.’ De Maisse was right to be suspicious. Even now, in what was considered old age, Elizabeth was physically agile and still had some of the restless energy that had characterised her youth. A visiting ambassador from Württemberg in March 1595 was amazed that during one of his audiences with the queen, ‘She stood for longer than a full hour by the clock conversing with me, which is astonishing for a Queen of such eminence and of such great age.’ In 1599, when she was in her mid-sixties, Elizabeth surprised the Spanish ambassador with her sprightliness at the dance. ‘The head of the Church of England and Ireland was to be seen in her old age dancing three or four galliards,’ he reported. The galliard was a particularly energetic dance, requiring frequent leaps, jumps and hops, so it was impressive that Elizabeth could carry it off with such aplomb. She was still performing it in 1602, at the age of almost seventy, when she honoured the Duke of Nevers by dancing it twice with him. That same year, another foreign visitor saw the queen walking in her garden at Oatlands and was astonished by her agility. ‘Her Royal Majesty passed us several times,’ he recalled, ‘walking as freely as if she had been only eighteen years old.’ For all her physical agility, there are hints that Elizabeth had started to lose her formidable mental capacity. Like her father, she became increasingly paranoid as age and infirmity overtook her. Even though it had been easily defeated by the royal forces, the Earl of Essex’s rebellion in 1601 had seriously destabilised her and more than ever she sought sanctuary in her private apartments. ‘These troubles waste her much,’ reported Sir John Harington. ‘Every new message from the city doth disturb her . . . the many evil plots and designs have overcome all her Highness’ sweet temper.’

Although weakened by stress and lack of food, the restless energy that the queen had displayed throughout her life still remained. Harington described how she ‘walked fastly to and fro’ when in a fury against Essex, and reported: ‘She walks much in her privy chamber, and stamps with her feet at ill news, and thrusts her rusty sword at times into the arras in great rage . . . the dangers are over, and yet she always keeps a sword by her table.’

Another (perhaps more truthful) account describes the ageing monarch as ‘very feeble and tottering on account of her illness,’ but the author admits that she was nevertheless ‘adorned and bedecked right royally’.

'The court was very much neglected, and in effect the people were generally weary of an old woman’s government,’ reported another courtier. In ever greater numbers, her subjects flocked north to James VI, King of Scotland, anxious to ingratiate themselves with the queen’s likely successor. As Camden noted: ‘They adored him as the sun rising, and neglected her as now ready to set.’ Elizabeth was well aware of this and was tormented that ‘the question of the succession every day rudely sounded in their ears’.

The loss of her subjects’ love hastened Elizabeth’s decline..."

AT DEATH's DOOR

In January 1603, the queen left the court in Whitehall on the advice of her trusted old astrologer John Dee, and moved to her favourite palace of Richmond, to which she could ‘best trust her sickly old age’.

... As the days passed, she continued to slip into a steady decline. Ever mistress of her fate, the queen refused to lie down in her bed or to take any food for three days and nights, instead ‘holding her finger almost continually in her mouth, with her eyes open and fixed upon the ground, where she sat on cushions without rising or resting herself, and was greatly emaciated by her long watching and fasting.’ She angrily dismissed the ministrations of her physicians, and those around her began to suspect that she had simply decided to die. ‘The Queen grew worse, because she would be so, none about her being able to persuade her to go to bed,’ recalled an exasperated Sir Robert Carey. ‘It seems she might have lived if she would have used means,’ another visitor concurred, ‘but she would not be persuaded, and princes must not be forced.’

... In her grief, Elizabeth sought even greater privacy: ‘The Queen for many days has not left her chamber . . . they say that the reason for this is her sorrow for the death of the Countess,’ observed Scaramelli.

Racked by sorrow and weakened by lack of food and sleep, the queen presented a sorrowful sight to the few courtiers who were permitted to visit her. Among them was the Countess of Nottingham’s widower, Charles Howard, the Lord High Admiral. Perhaps softened by pity, Elizabeth heeded his entreaties that she must retire to her bed. As soon as she did so, her life slipped rapidly away. The corridors of the palace echoed with ‘great weeping and lamentation’ as the queen’s ladies ‘passed to and fro, and perceived there was no hope that Her Majesty should escape.’

Shortly after taking to her bed, Elizabeth was seized by a ‘defluxion in the throat’, which left her unable to speak and ‘like a dead person’. The glands of her neck were enlarged and her breathing became laboured. Modern medical analysis suggests that she was suffering from bronchopneumonia, which, in a weakened or aged person, is rapidly followed by pneumonia and often proves fatal. Four days later, Scaramelli reported: ‘Her Majesty’s life is absolutely despaired of, even if she be not already dead.’

On 23 March, however, Elizabeth suddenly rallied. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she exhorted her ministers to care for the peace of the realm.

When the Lord High Admiral asked her if the King of Scots should be her heir, she lifted her thin, wasted hand up to her head and slowly drew a circle around it to indicate a crown. That evening, everyone but the queen’s ladies departed. They watched over her as she drifted between waking and sleeping. Between two and three o’clock the following morning, their royal mistress breathed her last, slipping from life ‘easily like a ripe apple from the tree’."

-The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Bormam

[unordinary-analysis]

Episode 170

Honorable mentions:

Blyke is pissed at this guy

I’m not sure if I can call the superhero posse the superhero posse anymore because Blyke is kind of doing his solo superhero thing now, but I mean he’s part of the posse, and nothing is really contradicting. Yeah I’ll keep calling them that. The nature of the group changed, but not the basics.

Superhero posse is Remi, Blyke, and Isen btw

At the end of my first paragraph, when I say, “-with the complications of a real world situation,” I am aware that the UnOrdinary universe is not real, lmao. The phrasing I used is to try to convey that the factors of things like actual performance ability in regards to power are the roots of this system. So rather than being presented with a society whose classifications exist just for the hell of it, like it seems with a lot of stories, it is clear in UnOrdinary that the hierarchy is prompted and necessary, which makes it harder to debate the morality of its nature when presented with issues like discrimination or abuse of authority. Just a quick note. Probably should have made that more clear, but I didn’t want to go too off topic lol. I do that too much already.

Tfw you didn’t think you would find much to write about and the all of a sudden you have pages of writing

No clue what to say about the end of the episode. I don’t have any predictions as to what Kuyo might want. His history with Rei could go either way because we still don’t know if he stayed a hierarchical abuser or if he eventually turned to Rei’s side. Until we know that, and maybe even then, I won’t say anything.

^^also just lazy this is long already and I have to write another of these

My eyes are numb to this sorry if the transitions are confusing

Low Tiers vs. High Tiers: Newside and Origin Edition:

So, and I’m aware this is a skillfully awful way to start this post, we’re all aware of how bad the tensions are between different tiers, especially in places like Wellston. But in this episode, and the few before it, there’s finally a chance to explore into this concept outside of the select group of teenagers that make up Wellston Private High School. And, yes, we’ve gotten a few examples outside of this when Remi spent time as a vigilante, and also when the superhero posse got into some trouble at Kovoro mall. I don’t know, Remi just brings out the injustice in people for some reason? Anyway, I’m bringing this up now because I don’t think I’ve really talked about this before even when the other examples were relevant. To be fair, I don’t think I was writing these for most examples and during the first superhero arc (Remi’s), I had just started and my posts were like maximum 300 words long. Anyway, I really wanted to take advantage of this opportunity now. It’s always really refreshing to see outside the small bubble we’re normally confined to as the usual focus of the story is on the hierarchy struggle in Wellston and everything to do with it. Though this Blyke arc is very much centered around his struggle with his power and his goal of advancing in the hierarchy, it also opens a window for us to see out, again, into that underlying concept similar to Wellston’s power struggle, but on a more extreme scale. Obviously, the villain of our story, John, is the main focus in the comic because he is the main character, but the villain(?) of the UnOrdinary universe is painted to be the struggle between low and high tiers. The hierachy’s paradoxical creation of social imbalance and social stability is the underlying focus behind uru-chan’s writing in this comic. This is a comic about class struggle with the complications of a real world situation (see honorable mentions above for clarification).

The social dynamic between the different tiers is magnified in the recent chapters’ events and location. We are already aware and comfortable with the concept of higher-tiers (not like high-tiers but higher) preying on low-tier districts to gain power quickly, so it’s a bit less noticeable, or standout, now, for me anyway. But in comparisons to the power struggle at Wellston currently (Joker situation), the situations in these worse off towns is still significantly worse. I’m just going to summarize what’s happening really fast, but hopefully you already know what’s happening because I’m bad at explaining. So basically: lower/mid-tiers or straight up mid-tiers (no known naturally higher-tiers have done this to our knowledge, but more on that later) pick a district known to be filled with low-tiers (always weaker than the offender) and attempt take over in hopes of gaining authority and power. Because no higher-tier has been seen attempting this, I want to say that the cause of this is the feeling deprivation of it in their normal life, where their ability grants them nothing special. Similar to how John reacted shortly after he gained his powers at first, they want to become the oppressor instead of the victims that they’ve always been. By going to lower-tier districts where around a 3.0 (or with aid, something higher), give or take is stronger than anyone else around, these people become “trigger-happy” for lack of a better word. They take advantage of finally being able to do something that they never have before and take it a little far. I do not think there are many motives other than this, especially because in this episode when Blyke was approaching the Newside woman, she thought, “Does he plan on toying with us, just like Lance did?” Take note of the word toying. From her word choices in her conversation with Blyke, I’ve pieced together that all Lance really did was mess things up around Newside, never really doing anything focused or thought through. He was thoughtless and impulsive. Destroyed their town and terrorized its people only because he could. I’ve also hinted at a little bit the use of ability enhancers. From Remi’s superhero arc, we know that some of these lower-tiers are injecting themselves with this enhancement drug to shoot up in strength to be able to attempt anything like this. This means that even if you are the lowest of the low, you have a chance at tasting power, which obviously stretches the number of people pulling something like this. I’m not too concerned about this today, however, because it’s kind of separate from the topic of hierarchical conflict, or at least enough for me to separate it from this post.

This entire concept of low-tier invasion and takeover is an example, probably the most telling one, of the dangers that come from such a polarizing system as the UnOrdinary hierarchy.

Everything I’ve said really seems to lead to the fact that dealing with both injustice and discrimination around ability and people trying to change who they were born to be is unavoidable in a world like UnOrdinary. Obviously, this ranking system was put into place for a reason as exemplified by Rei’s reign at Wellston. But as the world reaches new ages and innovative thinking, the confines of the hierarchical ladder aren’t as stable and reliable as they used to be. I’m sure in the past, the hierarchy has gone along almost without a hitch, but as violence grows due to the harsh pedestal the hierarchy unintentionally puts high-tiers on, and radical ideals are being placed into the heads of anyone who will listen (UnOrdinary the book), the structure of the hierarchy is becoming more fluid, which is confusingly ironic. It’s like the historical Age of Enlightenment reborn. People as a whole are growing more and more restless.

So, the big question is whether or not the hierarchy is still the best design for UnOrdinary’s society. Because while it has created a cushion for accidental and catastrophic incompetence in a more general, everyday context, it has evolved into less normalized, yes, but harsher clashes between the different ability levels. I will say that I, personally, support the idea of the hierarchy because order, when done right, will always defeat brute force. What I’d like to say is that, with proper involvement with the authorities, I think the hierarchical system would run smoothly. And yet they are caught in this circle of trying to stop revolutionary thinking among its civilians. This is why the authorities are trying to put an end to the superhero movement, not because the heroes are helping to clean up the streets, but because in doing so, the superheroes are disrupting the natural hierarchy. See the irony? The authorities aren’t doing what they need to do to stop the hierarchical uprising because they’re busy trying to stop people from rising up against the hierarchy, which somehow contradict. Now, all of this needs a beginning. This cycle obviously had to start somewhere or else the entire history of the hierarchy wouldn’t be so good and desired. The superhero movement is this start for this cycle and they all stem from the same thing: the revolutionary ideas that came from revolutionary thinkers: the book UnOrdinary. Obviously, before this there were some issues with the hierarchical system (allowing John to abuse his power as king), but the issue is more extreme and relevant as I explained in the second paragraph (the thick one), because of the lower-tiers feeling unsatisfied and acting out on other low-tiers because of that. But I really want to let myself believe that UnOrdinary set off a chain reaction in the UnOrdinary universe leading to the class struggles in the extreme state they are currently in. And as the comic is obviously called UnOrdinary, I like to think that there is a reason for that title rather than something so personal and niche as a sentiment of John’s.

[origamiblades]

@goldcnblood:  meme 34: a kiss upon returning from death

         (does this even count???)

  DO NOT CLICK ON THE DASH, 4,408 WORDS YOU’D DOOM YOURSELF!!!

The World Between Worlds was, perhaps to some people (who'd even heard of it)— a myth. Or, maybe, something not quite accurate to the claims. Armitage refused to believe that. That he was chasing after something unattainable.

That he'd truly, absolutely lost Ben. Yes, on a purely selfish note but also because he couldn't shake off the guilt that tore him open anytime he caught sight of the ghost that haunted him in the other man's image. Originally, he'd figured he'd been hallucinating. That his brain was conjuring up something to make up for everything— or manifest his guilt into something more demanding of his attention. Within time, he realized it wasn't so— that Ben had come back and practically tethered himself to Armitage. He hated it so much, but he also couldn't bring himself to tell the man to go— or, at least… couldn't bring himself to tell him it really was what he wanted.

Because in truth, he didn't want Ben to leave. He wanted him here… but physically. And not the passing chance touches that they were lucky enough to chase after on occasion but… alive.

Getting his hands on information about this realm wasn't exactly easy, but when the idea had come up from Ben in passing, Armitage had immediately latched onto it. His entire work had been practically sidelined (which in and of itself, was a miracle)— that which could be delegated out was, and everything else that was left over was only given partial attention once Armitage had more or less worn himself out mentally or otherwise ran out of information (sometimes that'd merely lead to another, more aggressive rereading of older information).

The entrance to the planes that had been recorded to exist on Lothal was a bust— and while he'd read as such, still Armitage had found himself before the ruins. Seafoam eyes criticizing the rubble as if he might find something that would still grant him the access he so desired. He’d seen pictures of the temple back when it was still standing— of the paintings that had graced the walls and supposedly worked as a sort of key. There were no paintings now.

Every piece of rubble that had been left likely wasn’t in the spot it had fallen at this point, and Armitage couldn’t locate any tells of any of the paintings that had been a part of the temple. He couldn’t help but wonder if that meant the Empire had picked through the ruins. Had confiscated every last piece. Or, perhaps— something more ludicrous but not entirely out of the question as he’d learned dealing with the Force— the paintings had merely vanished on their own.

Only after hours of picking over the site did Hux allow himself to sink in defeat to rest atop one of the larger pieces of rubble. Head resting in hands as a groan tore it’s way from the man’s throat. Seafoam eyes staring down at the ground beneath himself as he desperately wished for Ben’s ghost to once again appear. But would that make him feel better, or worse? This time the sound that left Armitage was a sigh— eyes finally drifting shut. For all the pain and sadness that gripped the man since he’d been unable to save Ben’s life, Armitage could feel a soft trill of calmness surrounding him amongst the ruins. He’d figured that it might well be lingering tells of the Force’s touch here, and that prompted a low, pained laugh from the man.

“So close, and yet…” Another sigh, as Armitage contemplated his next move. He could stay here— scour over the land time and time again with a growing desperation and the probability that nothing would even come from it. Or, he could quit before he found himself walking down the path of further mental descent. Before he managed to work himself back up into a once more crazed state that would do no one any good.

A hot breeze of air washed over Hux and brought him pause— eyes snapping open to note that darkness had crept in. That meant he had lost a few more hours musing in his inner turmoil. He'd been about ready to shrug it off and dive right back into the dark recesses of his mind when he noticed large silver paws just within his peripheral.

Jolting into an upright position, Armitage's hand quickly flew to the blaster that sat at his hip— eyes leveling with the giant silver canine that stood before him. A… loth-wolf, wasn't it? He recalled reading about them while looking into finding a way to access the World Between Worlds.

Sentient beings. Dangerous, and connected to the Force. And when seafoam eyes locked on the golden ones that were watching him Armitage felt no reason to believe everything he'd read was wrong. Recognition sent a chill crawling up Hux's spine and he narrowed his eyes towards the creature.

"... can I help you?" He'd finally prompted after a long stretch of silence passed between them. The loth-wolf dipped her head minutely before sitting down, and Armitage quirked an eyebrow, "How so?"

Nothing happened. Instead of doing anything to provide something that could be taken as an answer, the creature's bright eyes simply continued to regard him— and Armitage couldn't help but feel like he was being judged. And while he was more than deserving of such a thing, it still irked him.

"Look… if you don't need anything I'm going to leave. I've been here longer than I should have as is." Still nothing, and Hux found himself biting back a frustrated sigh before he pushed himself to his feet. When the loth-wolf didn't move to stop him— to try and get his attention again, Armitage turned on his heel and started off back towards where his ship awaited him.

A heavy object collided with his back after only just three steps and slammed him into the ground face first. The impact drew a loud grunt from Hux before he cursed softly. The weight applied to his back wasn't enough to cause anymore pain but he knew without even trying that the loth-wolf wasn't about to just let him up. With a huff, Armitage couldn't help but to let his forehead collide with the ground beneath him.

"Fine." The word was practically hissed out, "I suppose I'll stay then, since you're so insistent."

There's a long moment before the pressure is removed from Armitage's back and an even longer one before the man finally dared to heft himself into a seated position— shooting the creature a faint glare. He wondered, briefly, if she was simply wasting his time for the sake of entertainment.

"What do you want from me?" Armitage pressed, watching as the loth-wolf once more sat down. Her golden eyes fixated on Hux as if he should already know the answer to his own question. Another sigh heaved out of the man before he dipped his head— eyes drifting shut as he regulated his breathing into something calmer.

Though agitation prickled at the back of his mind, Hux managed to otherwise quiet the racing thoughts that were much more rampant these days. Brows furrowing slightly at first before the frustration slowly eased away.

Soon, the loth-wolf's nose found itself pressed against Armitage's forehead and his eyes blinked open— seafoam hues peering up towards the towering creature in thinly veiled curiosity. Hux dared not to speak up again, instead staying quiet and allowing the connection he had to the Force to do the 'talking' for him. 

With a faint puffing sound, the loth-wolf slowly pulled away and turned— starting to pad off slowly back towards the chunk of ruins that were bulked together. Without even having to think about it, Armitage found himself on his feet and trailing after her. She, likewise, didn't bother to look back to see if he was following.

They could sense each other's intentions, now. At least, mostly. Hux knew she knew why he'd come here, and the loth-wolf knew he knew she wanted to lead him somewhere.

Armitage had to bite his tongue at the rising anxiety— a feeling that threatened to overwhelm him and make him sick. The disgusting, vulnerable feeling of hope hammering deeper into his soul with every hard thump of his own heart.

Within minutes the pair found themselves halting before a large slab of stone left over from the collapse. The side facing them was cast in shadow thanks to the positioning of Lothal's moons at current, and when the loth-wolf looked back towards Armitage expectantly he couldn't help but frown. He'd looked over this place five times before having given up— checked every inch of every rock to the best of his capabilities. There was nothing of worth here.

Yet still, the canine once more looked back towards the stone and despite all logic suggesting this was a waste of time Hux entered into the shadow the smooth chunk of stone provided.

Unlike the last few times Armitage had scoured this rock in particular, the man was able to pick up on something faintly painted across the stone— a trick of the light, or something new…?

Instinctively Armitage reached out— fingers making contact with the design he could just barely make out. As fingertips slowly trail down the painting, golden light seeped from where he touched and spread out until the entire figure was shining in the brightness.

"A loth-wolf?" Armitage questioned out loud— about to turn back towards his current company when the painting moved. Painted eyes focus on him as the golden loth-wolf painting turned its attention towards him— before it stood from it's seated position and howled. The sound echoed deep inside Armitage's head and he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder over it, watching as more painted wolves poured in from the edges of the stone— traversing between pieces of ruin to come alongside the one who had howled.

After a long pause where it felt like the paintings seemed to scrutinize Hux, the loth-wolves looked away and began to create a moving circle. Slowly but surely picking up speed at time ticked by.

"What the kriff…?" Armitage couldn't help but let the crude word drop from his tongue in bafflement, a hand tentatively reaching out only to pull away before it made contact with the wall. Perhaps he really was losing his mind.

Armitage managed one half step back before the loth-wolf who had led him to the slab aggressively headbutt him, shoving him face first into the wall—

Through the wall. 

Falling to hands and knees was the last thing that Armitage had expected— and he was quickly on his feet, peering back towards where he'd come from and seeing the loth-wolf watching him from through a circular portal— a portal! 

A disbelieving laugh bubbled out from Hux as he looked down towards his hands— out across a scenery that seemed to be space with transparent pathways methodically weaving throughout it— back to the loth-wolf.

"... thank you." At the words, the canine dipped her head, before turning and wandering out of sight of the portal. Armitage flexed his fingers— an attempt to dispel nervous energy— then turned his back towards the portal he had entered through. 

A sense of sheer wonder enveloped the man— distant voices echoing off just far enough away to be picked up, some closer than others. The words spoken seemed… mostly useless, at least out of context. Words of encouragement, snippets of conversation, a phrase here and there. Lips twitch up into the barest tells of a smile before flattening out once more. With one more glance back towards the portal he’d entered through, Armitage finally started forwards.

For as engulfing as the surrounding space-esque setting was, the place hardly felt dark… instead, somehow the illuminated pathways managed to bring an easing brightness to the realm— something that wasn’t overpowering in nature, almost comforting as a matter of fact. Slowly, Armitage came to a halt where the pathway forked off into three different directions and frowned to himself. Eyes casting down each route before looking once more around himself. The apparent vastness of the place was overwhelming.

“Now how the kriff am I supposed to know where to go..?” The words left his mouth, though Armitage knew well enough that the chances of an actual answer was slim to none. Eyes close, a breath filtering in slowly until he heard a particular, familiar voice. Seafoam eyes snap open once more and before he could completely register just what it was he’d picked up on, his feet had carried him with a certain urgency down the path to his left. Within moments symbols came into sight— ones that felt familiar, in a distant sort of way. As if something one might have seen in a dream or perhaps their foggy memories. Hux couldn’t place his finger on just why he’d felt he knew them… until he heard the voice again.

Eyes drift from the symbols surrounding the portal to the actual thing itself— landing on the sight of a terrified woman that he knew he should recognize. Though his memories tried to escape him, the answer as to why still somehow managed to form itself and escape past his lips, "Mother..?"

It was Arkanis, Hux realized with a sudden jolt as he rushed to be standing before the portal. Before the woman. She was close enough that if he were to reach out he could—

Commotion on the other side of the portal cut Armitage's thoughts off sharply and brought the man to a defensive bristle. Deep in his gut he knew exactly what was going on— there was only one real possibility.

Instinctively, his hand reached out— fingers brushing against the odd sensation of the portal but refusing to penetrate past it. Frustration welling up deep inside of Hux as anger burned at his eyes— tears brimming. If he were to pull her out— to save her, how much damage would he cause to the world as he knew it? He was already risking so much bringing one person back from the dead. Making it two… would be too risky.

"I'm so sorry…" The words spilled out, fingers curling against the portal as the tears broke free— burning hot as they trickled down his cheeks, "All this time I've dreamt of such a moment and now that I have it…"

He fell silent— seafoam eyes seeming to lock with a pair so similar to his own on the other side. Almost as if his mother could sense him and— that would make sense, wouldn't it? If she, not so unlike himself, was connected to the Force then maybe…

The commotion grew louder and Armitage felt the urge to risk it all burn hotter in his chest, teeth gritting as his mother turned her back on him and pulled out the small blaster she kept hidden on her person.

"No no no don't fight back." Fingers curled into fists and he wished so desperately he had something he could smash them into, "Don't be stupid."

He could hear the door slide open and finally he forced himself to glare away— the sound of blaster fire ringing out for only the span of a few seconds before everything went eerily quiet. When eyes dare look back up there was merely the sight of stars where the portal had been. A heavy breath heaved from Armitage's lungs as he collapsed to his knees.

Slowly, eyes drift shut and Armitage slammed his fist into the ground, uncaring of the factor that it sent a painful sting up his arm. If anything, the pain helped. A nice, shocking jolt to his systems. Hux took a deep breath, then opened his eyes again— forcing himself back up to his feet and turning his back to the place the portal had been.

“Focus,” He murmured to himself, casting seafoam hues back out towards the vastness of his surroundings. There had to be a system in place here, right? He just needed to make sense of it. Finally, Armitage started back off once more. Doing his best to tune out the voices that whispered off in the distance as he kept his eyes peeled for any signs of Ben. If he could find something that led to a place in time where the man was, perhaps he could use that as a jumping off point— a reference.

Booted feet click softly on the illuminated path beneath him as Hux eased his way along the path set before him. Sparing glances towards portals to make quick note of what point in time they were— some of them he recognized. Flashest of familiar faces, familiar moments— and sometimes he caught glimpses of people he’d never seen before in his life. And while that incited curiosity in the man, he could not be strayed from his mission at hand.

Until, of course, another all too familiar voice froze him in place and brought a chill to the air. Goosebumps prickled along Armitage’s skin and for a short moment, he’d almost forgotten how to breath. 

Just keep moving, he urged himself desperately in his head but just like with most times when it came to him, he couldn’t help but to freeze on the spot. Even after all the years without the man terrorizing him, he still had that effect.

“You’re pathetic,” The words were ones that echo in the back of Armitage’s mind time and time again— less often these days, after coming so far… but they still lingered. Needled his conscience when he was already down, “Can’t you do anything right?”

“I’m sorry father, I—”

“Don’t be sorry, be better.” Armitage couldn’t help but finally turn towards the direction the sound had been coming from— taking in the sight of his father back in his younger years. And a little kid… himself, he realized with a jolt. Surging forward, Hux took in the scene before him with a sort of morbid curiosity. While he could remember bits and pieces of his past, many memories were either hazy or entirely unreachable.

“Clean up your mess.” The child dipped his head at the demand, almost something akin to a nod and moved to bolt off when Brendol reached out and snatched his arm to keep him from leaving, “No. Right now.”

“But, the glass—” The protesting seemed only to further piss the man off, and it prompted him to yank the child closer towards the shattered glass on the ground.

“You made the mess without using anything, you can clean it up without using anything.” Armitage couldn’t help the low growl that left his throat at the man’s words. One that only cut off when the child meekly stooped down to start picking up the broken shards with his bare hands. Anger rose in Hux’s chest, and finally the ice in his veins started to melt— a rage replacing the fear that had captivated his frame moments ago.

It wasn’t even a minute before Brendol’s foot lashed out, catching the boy and knocking him over, “You don’t have all day.”

Finally, Armitage snapped— hand turning and lifting, coaxing the shards on the ground on the other side of the portal to raise up into the air. Seafoam eyes glared towards Brendol and he knew all it would take is the slightest bit of effort on his part to send the sharp pieces flying into the man’s neck. Seeing the flash of momentary terror in the bastard’s eyes was almost worth it, if it weren’t for the rage that quickly swallowed it up.

The satisfaction that would come with ending the man’s life a second time, however… he knew he couldn’t take. Anger had Armitage’s blood boiling as instead of sending the pieces right into the man’s neck as he so desperately wanted they flew past him and into the wastebasket behind him. The force with which they slammed into the bottom of the trash prompted them to shatter into smaller bits and Armitage forced himself to take a step back away from the portal.

Hux could feel fear crawling back up his spine as realization finally hit him on just what he’d done. Forcing himself back another step—  then another— Armitage had to whirl away and block out the sounds that soon followed. He knew the consequences of using the Force.

“Stupid,” He chastised himself, hands flying up to grasp his hair, “Stupid, stupid! You know better than to use the Force! You can’t just—”

“It’s okay.”

The words had Hux freezing once more, and his heart skipped a beat. Was he hearing things again—…

“It’s just us.”

Ben.

The sounds from the portal behind him were drowned out in an instant, as Armitage took off towards the sound of the familiar voice. Ignoring all the other portals that shimmered on either side of him before nearly passing the one he was after over. Skidding to a halt, seafoam eyes lock onto the portal— again, the symbols were vaguely familiar. But not nearly as familiar as the sight that lay beyond them.

“Yavin IV…” the words left Armitage as a mere wisp, feet slowly carrying him towards the scene playing out before him. He could see himself, seated on the ground. Next to him sat Ben. Despite his best efforts, Hux felt a grin tug at his features. Even just seeing him alive through a portal hurt less than the ghost that had taken to haunting him.

Moving closer still, Armitage only stopped once he couldn’t move any closer without breaching the portal. A hand raising up and brushing just along his side of the bridge. He was so close… so, so close.

“Ben…” The knife that had been in his chest since the other man’s death twisted again, and the smile vanished, “How am I supposed to find you...?”

Again, the whispering voices off in the distance seemed to cascade down on him. The scene playing out before him was quiet and peaceful— something incapable of drowning out the other sounds as they crashed down on him suddenly. Hands instinctively reach up, covering his ears until a voice rang directly in his head. One he didn’t recognize.

Use the Force.

“The Force…” Armitage echoed, shaking his head as if to dispel the rampant sounds. Eyes flutter closed then, and a deep breath is taken. Brows furrow, as Hux slowly relaxed. Soon, the voices dissipated— fading off into nothingness, and a small feeling seemed to all but reach out for him. With only momentary hesitation, Armitage conceded to the pull. Following after the coaxing feeling.

A few minutes peel past, before the man found himself stopping abruptly— eyes blinking open to the sight of yet another portal. The first thing he noticed was Ben. The man had been forced to his knees and restrained but still managed to wear that insufferable smirk, as if the threat that was before him was nothing. Armitage felt his heart lurch, then, as eyes cast instead to the ambitious officer that loomed over the man that he’d accidentally fallen in love with.

Without even thinking, Armitage quickly breached the portal— lifting up the startled stormtrooper that raised their blaster towards him with the Force and redirecting their shot into the one standing next to them. With a clench of his fist, the stormtrooper he held crumpled then dropped to the ground beside their partner.

Then, seafoam eyes lock onto the officer that had shifted his full attention to Hux— and Armitage couldn’t help quirking his head slightly to the side at the blaster that was now pointed towards him. Eyes dark as they bore into the other man’s.

“Supreme Leader H—” Armitage cut him off immediately with a raise of his hand, wrapping the Force tightly around the man’s neck.

“I thought I made it clear that killing him was off limits?” Armitage demanded, striding forwards and past Ben— daring not to allow himself to get distracted for the time being.

“Not- n—…” Armitage laughed when the officer spoke up, seemingly desperately trying to deny the factor that that’s exactly the path he was about to take. The grip tightens even more, before loosening enough to let the man breath.

“Not?” Hux echoed, “Not clear enough? Apparently so.”

Then, the hold releases entirely and the man gasps for air, immediately swallowing up as much as he could before trying to scramble to speak, “Not… killing.”

Armitage hummed, almost seeming to consider that refusal. Then he nods, slowly. But not at the man’s words. Oh, if he hadn’t intended to murder Ben he wouldn’t have left the wound he had. The man was foolish— even more so, it seemed, as the officer seemed hopeful over the nodding. Hux chuckled dryly, before pulling his knife out and swiftly driving it home into the man’s throat

The shock was worth it— as for the second time, the man fell desperately on his knees. Hands reaching up as if they could do anything to prevent the inevitable. Armitage merely tilted his head as he watched until the man finally fell face first into the ground. A long moment stretched out before he even dared to turn around.

Seafoam eyes immediately locked onto Ben, and Armitage felt the knife in his heart twist once more. Within seconds he was kneeling before the man, hands desperately seeking out the part of his torso where the wound had been inflicted— where he’d, months ago, bled out and left Armitage with only the blood that had stained his hands. His clothes. The floor…

Tears well up in his eyes, as hands pull away. Press again. Pull away—… nothing. He’d almost managed to convince himself maybe he’d missed it, hands seeking out all over. Eyes scrutinizing Ben before finally he laughed. A pained, yet happy laugh.

Hand finally abandon their search for a fatal wound, instead grasping Ben’s face in between them as tears rolled freely down Hux’s face.

“You’re alive…” The words were a breath, hardly even a whisper.

He can touch him….

Finally, Armitage caved. Lips crashing into Ben’s with the same desperation he’d showcased moments before. Hands easily seek out the man’s hair— his shoulders— just anything Hux could touch. He missed touching him.

And he’d be dammed if he ever let anyone take him away from him again.